Lake Garda Region (and a quick trip to Venice)

I should probably title this post "How to see the sights with 8 people in a 7 seater van." Or maybe just condense it to: "Cold, Fat and Crowded."

The decision to have 8 people stay in an area of Italy where nothing was accessible except by car might seem unwise to the casual reader but I assure you there were plenty of reasons that necessitated this arrangement. Not to say that any of those reasons were necessarily wise but since when have the traveling Ionescus been guided primarily by wisdom when planning any of their trips?

In any event, we were 8 people careening around hair-pin turns through streets narrow enough that we had to pull our side mirrors in to make it through. Those of you who have not been to Italy will think I am exaggerating, those of you who have will know I'm not.

Some of you might wonder why we'd bother to do the Italian version of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride while one of us was unseatbelted and the rest of us with our faces pressed against the windows and doorhandles. Particularly after seeing the photos from the previous post about the million dollar villa, you might wonder why we would want to venture anywhere else.

I have the answer: food.

More specifically: Italian food.

Turns out when you rent a million dollar villa (not a million dollars to rent obviously. Actually much cheaper than hotel rooms in the end. Much cheaper by far in case you're planning something there in the future) you get a concierge with extensive knowledge of the local restaurants and bars and who will not only share this information but will make reservations for you as well. Novella was spot on with her recommendations, right down to the best place to buy boots. We would have been lost without her. Well, to be honest, we were lost most of the time but without her guidance we probably would have ended up at the Italian equivalent of The Waffle House.

Alas, her superpowers were limited: she could not fix the internet nor, in the end do anything about the American-hating front gate. We were nearly stuck for another week in the million dollar villa due to the American-hating gate but we managed, through a series of short-clicks and long-holds on the remote followed by a step through the sensor, two jumps through over the sensor, gunning the car engine in a threatening manner, an a cappella version of God Save the Queen and a pirouette thrown in for good measure it finally opened and allowed us to leave.

In the end I think it was the pirouette that did the trick. But I am a little bit sad that it did. I would not have minded being forced to spend another week eating that wonderful food and touring those lovely towns. Maybe the gate knew we had a good thing, maybe it knew what it was up to and didn't want us to leave the gorgeous view and all of the food. Maybe it didn't hate Americans after all.

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Krissi and Shelby's first dinner in Italy. We were told that it is a tradition at this particular restaurant for all adults to be served a glass of Proseco before the meal begins. Our teenagers must look mature because they were served as well, no questions asked.

A day trip to Salo. Great shopping and the best bar ever.

This is one of the same restaurants we went to the first time we were in Tuscany. Was just as good the second time around.

Ferry trip around the lake. We went to Sirmione and got our first taste for how much more crowded things have become in four years. We really never got to see the castle at all, partly because of the crowds and partly because we tried to walk to a place Novella had recommended and then realized it was so far we'd only arrive in time to turn around and head back to the ferry. So we settled for a random spot where the setting was gorgeous and almost made up for the food being just so-so.

If we thought things were crowded in Sirmione we hadn't seen anything until we tried to make a day trip to Venice. Our first clue should have been when we got to the train station and were told that all of the trains to Venice were full.
"Verona is nice," the man at the ticket booth said "You should go there."
That was clue number two. As usual we ignored all signs, subtle and glaring.
But we did it for Krissi and Shelby's sake (since the rest of us had been before). My feeling about Venice is, (as I believe I expressed on our previous visit) that it's like Vegas; you visit once and never need to go again. This trip did not alter that impression at all. But they seemed to enjoy it and that's what counts.

The best shot of Venice although his face reflects the general feeling I had about sloshing through the rising Adriatic in the Piazza San Marco then being jostled through alleys by enthusiastic tour group members. Oh Venice how I don't dream of ever returning to you.

Venice

There's a scene from The Simpson's Movie: the infamous Dome is coming down over Springfield and one man is under the shadow of the descending edge, darting back and forth, desperately trying to decide if he wants to stay within or without and of course as he's jumping around, undecided, the thing comes down and squashes him flat.  His dying scream is: "I never saw Venice!"

Does that mean I can die now because I've seen it?  At least I know what my dying words won't be.

But we almost skipped it because I didn't feel like going there.
Oh, did I just type that out loud?
It appears I did.
Right now you true Italy devotees are wiping the spray of Montelpucciano off your computer screens.  Let me give you forewarning: do not take another sip until you've finished reading for I've always maintained that confession is good for the soul though you may think it won't be enough to keep me from burning in the Italian Tourism hell.

I can redeem myself by pointing out that we did go.  But it was a near thing.
I hear your wails and groans of disbelief even from my little room in Obedin.  Why?  What could possibly have made you hesitate? you cry.  You think it must have been nothing short of a severed limb gushing liters of blood per heartbeat or maybe even a case of diarrhea so unrelenting that even diapering was ineffective.
No, I just got tired.
We were all tired.  And kind of getting on each other's nerves.  It was obvious we'd reached the downward slope of nerve-getting-on because every sentence began with a tell-tale exasperated "could you just..."
As in:
"Could you just put your pajamas on and go brush your teeth?"
"Could you just stop walking so fast/slow/into the back of me/off where no one can find you?"
"Could you just stop snoring for one night?"

I don't care what sort of al fresco, tuscan, bellisimo, pesto, vino or other Italian-type thing you're doing or seeing, after a while you get tired of hearing yourself snapping at your family members in that waspish voice that haunts your dreams and makes you wonder what you'll be like when you're seventy.
The only solution is to go home and sleep in your own bed and wash your clothes in something other than a bathroom sink.  And that's exactly what I wanted to do as soon as we left Lake Garda.

Problem was, we were driving within 50 km of the city and every time we brought up the possibility of not stopping, we found we couldn't quite look each other in the eye due to the guilt.  One time we actually whispered to each other: "What will people think if we don't?"  That's when I knew it was a lost cause for normally I put very little stock in the opinions of others, but I knew that one day we would have to face Tony Dean and explain just what in the world happened.

So to Venice.

About that I will only say that our lunch was so-so but the shopping was actually pleasant which coming from me says a lot.  As for the rest, the photos speak for themselves.

One of my favorite things was the hotel where we stayed not because it in itself was spectacular in any way, actually it was probably the dumpiest of all the hotels so far.  But I was won over entirely by the staff which consisted of a man named Marco.
Marco's job appears to involve making coffee and then spending the rest of the day sitting in the dining room talking to his guests about the pros and cons of Facebook.  A case might be made that I didn't love Marco so much as it was that I coveted his job but regardless, we spent many an enjoyable and relaxing hour in the dining room with Marco. We were outside of the main city of Venice and within easy walking distance to several grocery stores so in the evenings we feasted on fruit, cheese, salami, wine, and other bits of Italian deliciousness.
Another part of Marco's job involves partaking of whatever groceries the guests bring in but the price he pays is washing our plates so we can't say he doesn't earn his keep there.

I didn't get any photos of Marco.  Once again photo ops came and went while I was stuffing my face.
At some point I said to Mihai, "Could you just go upstairs and get the camera?"
To which he replied, "Could you just go get it yourself?"

But I never did because I was tired.  Bone tired.  The kind of tired where you want to curl up in bed and never get up. But I was I worried about dying of exhaustion?  Not really.  I'd seen Venice.