Look really, really closely and you’ll see the top of the Golden Gate. Beyond the wall of glorious, chilling fog. My favorite part of leaving the city.
No comments on Hidden Bridge
-
-
Eight Years Ago
I was very close friends with four other women. We had a tradition of indulgent birthday celebrations. Whatever the birthday gal wanted, the other four made happen. We took ski trips to Lake Tahoe, saw musicals, planned trips to Vegas, the sky was the limit. When my birthday came around, they asked me, “What do you want to do? Anything you want, we’ll do it.”“I’ve always wanted to go kayaking on the Bay. Could we rent kayaks for the day?” They exchanged looks. Finally, one of them spoke. “Well, we’d prefer not to do that. What else would you like to do?” (To be fair, one of the gals had recently had surgery on her arm, so kayaking might have been difficult.) “How about if we hike to Point Bonita Lighthouse and have a picnic?” A few moments of silence passed. “I think that would be really windy. Do you have something else you’d like to do?” Feeling somewhat defeated, I suggested the back up option that always seemed to work. “Okay, how about we go wine tasting in Napa?” “Yeah, that would take all day. We don’t really want to do that. But let us know what you want to do, and we’ll plan it.”
Not wanting to be rejected again, I said, “What would you like to do? Why don’t you plan something and we’ll do that?” And we went to dinner and a movie. Which was perfectly lovely and we had a great time.
Earlier This Year
My dear friend Emily and I were hiking at Land’s End. As we walked along, admiring the Bay and reflecting on how lucky we are to live here, she noticed a lighthouse across the bay. “I wonder if we could hike there. It looks like there would be great views from there.” I stared at her, on the verge of laughing. “Emmy Lou Lou.” She looked at me. “That’s Point Bonita Lighthouse. I’ve been wanting to hike there for the past eight years.” She smiled. “Great! That’s what we’ll do for your birthday this year!”Today
Ten of us met at a picnic area. I was shocked there weren’t more people there. It provided a perfect view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the Bay. After a glass of wine and some appetizers, we set out on the easy hike. We walked down a winding path, towards the point where the lighthouse stood. We walked across the suspension bridge, swaying with the wind. We reached the tip of the point, where the lighthouse still stood from 1855. We marveled at the beauty of the sea, the lighthouse, and the surrounding cliffs. It couldn’t have been a more perfect day. Usually enveloped by fog, today Point Bonita basked in rays of sun. We walked back to the picnic grounds and lazed the remainder of the afternoon, enjoying great food and even better company.It may have taken eight years to execute, but it was well worth the wait. I couldn’t imagine a better birthday celebration.
-
We’re in love with our hotel in Siena, Palazzo Ravizza. We walk up four flights of stairs to our loft suite, which has a slanted roof, gigantic skylights and a dormer window overlooking the Tuscan countryside, as well as a huge bathroom decorated in white and crimson Italian tile. Our breakfast every morning includes fresh mozzarella and sliced tomatoes, drizzled with a hint of olive oil and a sprinkling of oregano, as well as freshly brewed cappuccinos. The front desk staff are incredibly friendly, especially Ario, who’s helped us rent a car, recommended restaurants, and suggested wine for us. I did the math. It would cost only slightly more for me to rent a room here on a monthly basis rather than to rent my apartment in San Francisco. Tempting.
-
The taxi dropped us off at a remote Tuscan bed and breakfast, weeds and wildflowers lining the driveway. As we got out of the car, we saw a tall woman in a pristine white chef’s jacket walking towards us, carrying handfuls of fresh herbs. She introduced herself as Gina and led us into an old mill which had been converted to a one room kitchen/rec room for the family that owned the bed and breakfast. Exposed stone and high ceilings greeted us. We introduced ourselves to the others: couples from Minneapolis, New York, and Austin.
We snacked on fresh lava beans and soft, fresh pecorino cheese while waiting for the class to begin.
Fava beans and pecorino Conversation flowed easily among us. We prepared dessert first, a “sweet salami” that contained crushed crackers (like animal crackers), sweet and unsweetened cocoa, butter, sugar, sweet wine, which we mixed all together and refrigerated. When we rolled it out, it looked like salami, though certainly didn’t taste like it. Each of us volunteered for tasks as we prepared what would turn out to be an amazingly delicious, yet simple, lunch.
Everyone had jobs –
- butterflying the turkey breast
- chopping the fresh herbs – rosemary, parsley, basil
- preparing the asparagus
- sautéing the mushrooms
- preparing the artichokes for stuffing
- slicing artichokes for the pasta sauce
- making a bread crumb mixture to stuff in the artichokes and to put in the stuffed turkey breast
- making homemade pasta dough (so simple!), rolling it, and cutting it on guitar pasta cutter
Danielle making spaghetti There were enough tasks to keep people busy, but not too much work to prevent us from chatting and enjoying wine as we cooked. A few hours later, we sat beneath a covered picnic table and enjoyed the fruits of our labor.
Stuffed turkey breast (with prosciutto and artichoke bread crumbs) and asparagus – delicious! -
We awoke Thursday morning, our only goal for the day to see the Duomo di Siena and to wander throughout the walled city of Siena. We successfully accomplished both. Walking into the Duomo is like walking into the inspiration for Tim Burton’s movies. There are soaring columns of black and white striped marble reaching to the heavens.
Columns at the Duomo It’s hard to remember to look at the floor, which is said to be the most impressive feature of the cathedral and contains dozens of inlaid marble scenes. My eyes continually were pulled upward, the majestic domes covered in blue and gold stars, the busts of over 500 popes flanking the edge of the ceiling. The library, with its colorful oversized choir books on display, mesmerized us. We were transported to a time well before the printing press was invented, staring at a few large notes calligraphied on each page.
The ceiling of the library We climbed stairs (one of my favorite things to do) to take in an expansive view of the area around the Duomo.
View from above the Duomo We viewed more religious artwork than either of us had seen in our entire lives combined. And we wandered. Turned down this street and that. Saw a small alley and followed it to its end. Suddenly surprised with a breathtaking view of the countryside as we rounded a corner and peered over the wall of the city. We stopped for lunch, dining al fresco at a restaurant chosen because it had orange tablecloths – what better criteria to choose a restaurant?
Danielle dining al fresco And then, gelato in the afternoon, a delightful combination of tiramisu and coffee (because she made a face and refused to serve me when I ordered tiramisu and coconut, saying they don’t go together).
I scream, you scream, we all scream for gelato! We spent the late afternoon on the patio of our hotel, sharing a carafe of wine (and complimentary potato chips), writing postcards and learning more about the region. We really couldn’t have asked for a better first day in Siena.
Vino rosso, chips, and the Tuscan countryside -
Danielle missed her connection in Germany. The last message I got from her was “Trying to catch 12:15 plane. See you at train station in Roma.”
The cafe where we had agreed to meet at the Rome Termini had shut down. I decided to wait at the end of the platform, hoping she would choose to walk that way. A train arrived from the airport every half an hour. She wasn’t on the first. Nor the second. I wondered if she had made her flight, or would be arriving much later. The third train arrived. There she was! We had missed our train to Siena, so stood in line to see if we could either get a credit or rebook. The agent looked at our tickets. “No good.” “Okay. Could we rebook for a later train?” He pulled up a schedule, scribbled a time on the paper, and said, “Be on this one.” “Can we use these tickets?” I asked. He nodded. “Do we need to pay more?” He shook his head. We walked away, not really sure what had happened, but knowing we had an hour to pass before boarding the train to Firenze/Siena.
On the train, Danielle mentioned that it seemed strange that we were going to Firenze then back down to Siena. I thought for a moment. Yes, that was strange. We took out our tickets. Oh. They didn’t say Firenze. They said, Chiusi-Chianchiano. Then transfer to a train to Siena. We looked at each other questioningly. Were we on the wrong train? We pulled up the trenitalia iPad app. We googled train maps. We brought out guidebooks. We couldn’t figure it out. The ticket collector came by. I looked up at him, with what might have been a little bit of panic in my eyes, and said, “I think we’re on the wrong train.” He smiled and took our tickets. “Oh, no. You’re fine. You get off at Chiusi-Chianchiano. Three more stops.”
We relaxed and got our bags down from the overhead compartments. At Chiusi-Chianchiano, we waited for the train to Sienna, surprised when a single car showed up. We boarded, along with a handful of others, and started the ride through the beautiful Tuscan countryside.
We arrived to our hotel around 9:45 pm. Hungry from the journey, we headed to the closest restaurant after dropping off our bags in our room, a loft at the top of the pensione. Maybe it was because we were hungry, but I don’t think so. Each meal seems to be getting better and better. We started with a plate of salumi, mozzarella, rocket, and bruschetta, followed by two plates of delicious pasta. Danielle had a spicy gnocchi in tomato and meat sauce and I had a combo of our waiter’s two favorite dishes, gnocchi in a special green sauce, and rigatoni with meat sauce. The tables were close together and we bonded with the couple next to us over discussing the merits of amaretto vs. grappa (amaretto wins, hands down).
Tantalizing antipasto 
Basta pasta! After dinner, we thought a short walk would do us good, before falling into bed. We stumbled down an alley and both of us gasped as we entered the piazza. It is enormous, flanked on one side by a city hall. Tonight there was a smattering of activity at the restaurants along the edge. I can’t wait to go back during the day and see it in all its splendor.
Piazza del Campo at night -
A friend recommended a restaurant to try in Rome, Ristorante Santa Cristina. I found it on Google maps and noticed it wasn’t far from my hotel. On Monday night I set out to eat there. After an hour and a half of wandering and turning down this small street and that, I still couldn’t find it. It was as though I was engaged in a game of Blind Man’s Bluff, but without anyone to guide me, “Warm!” “Cold!” I ended up eating at what I imagine to be the Italian version of a diner. The lasagna was good and the wine sweet, but I longed for the love of family style cooking at Ristorante Santa Cristina.
On Tuesday night I studied the map again and saw my mistake. I was determined to find it. I would. I set out and after an hour of circling, I found it. It was down a tiny alley with a street sign almost invisible. I walked in, the restaurant having just opened. “Table for one?” I asked. “Do you have a booking?” A frown began to form on my face. “No… But I’ll come back. I’ll take whatever time slot you have.” She looked at her book. “You can eat now, or come back in three hours.” I chose to eat now, knowing that I had to be out in an hour and 45 minutes so that they could prepare my table for the next reservation. I scanned the menu and ordered.
Primi: ziti with fried zucchini blossoms. The pasta was perfectly al dente, the zucchini blossoms amazingly crisp, in a light cream sauce.
Ziti with fried zuchinni blossoms Secondi: mixed seafood platter. Tasty morsels of grilled salmon, cod, sea bass, king prawns, and langoustine.
Mixed seafood platter Side: mixed fennel, peas, and beans. Cooked just right. Washed down with a half carafe of the house red wine. It was well worth the two days of searching. Buon appetito!
-
- eavesdropping on Italians’ conversations. The cadence of the language makes me smile.
- seeing virtually everyone with a cone or cup of gelato in their hands
- that the drinking water is delicious and there are public faucets throughout the city where you can fill up your water bottle
- that you can walk anywhere within the city
- that you can turn a corner and there are remains from 2000 years ago
- walking by the Trevi fountain every day and tossing a coin over my shoulder
-
I walked over a hill and there it was. Colosseo. The Colosseum. It was somewhat surreal, seeing something in real life that I’ve seen depicted in artwork, paintings, movies, and books for so many years. It truly is awe inspiring. I listened to my audio guide, and was transported back more than 2000 years. I could picture the masses, entering the stadium, ready for an afternoon of entertainment, of gore, of death.
The Colosseum -
I arrived, happy to have booked a reserved ticket in advance (thank you Katie for the tip!). I was waived past the hundreds of tourists standing in line and immediately went through security. I climbed the stairs and got my ticket. Multiple tour groups entered at the same time and I felt myself swept along with the crowds. I wanted to pause and look at statues, at mosaics, at paintings, yet each time I stopped, I felt hoards of people pushing from behind. It’s moments like these when I want to do something completely socially unacceptable, such as screaming, “Get me out of here!” and running like mad. But I didn’t. At one point, however, I stepped behind a rope. I couldn’t bear it anymore. Maybe if I stood still for just a moment…
The handsome guard in his navy uniform immediately approached me. I mustered one of the few Italian phrases I know, “Mi scusi.” He stared at me. I fumbled. “I, I , the crowds. I can’t stand the crowds.” His eyes softened. “Can I stand here for just a moment?” He nodded and walked the other way. I waited until there was a break in the tour groups and started walking again. It was still crowded, but I wasn’t being constantly jostled.
The crowd, not quite so dense, moving towards the Sistine Chapel I wasn’t prepared for the opulence of the Vatican Museum. Room after room of beautifully painted walls and ceilings. Halfway through the visit, my neck hurt from staring at the ceiling so much. On the one hand, I was disgusted by the wealth the church had accumulated. On the other had, what works of art. What incredible masterpieces had been created in the name of faith.
Beautiful ceiling at the Vatican Museum 
Another beautiful ceiling The culmination of the tour was the Sistine Chapel. For some reason, I had always believed the Sistine Chapel was a dome. I was somewhat taken aback when I entered the long rectangular chapel. Every bit of the ceiling and walls were painted. I listened to my audio guide describe each panel of the ceiling and walls. I marveled at the detail of the paintings. All the while the guards yelling, “Silenzio! Silence!” The room would hush, then gradually sounds would arise, from tour leaders sharing expertise, from friends whispering to each other, from couples marveling at the art.
I was pushed out of the Sistine Chapel amidst a tour group, which was great, because it landed me directly at the entrance of St Peter’s Basilica. I walked in and stopped. As impressive as the Sistine Chapel was, I was unprepared for the grandeur and beauty of St Peter’s. I stood at the entrance, mouth agape. Sun shone through the high windows, the type of sun I used to always refer to as “Jesus rays” when I was younger. The rays of sun that appear so frequently in portraits of Christ, reigning down on the blessed.
Entering St Peter’s Basilica I walked around, marveling at the gigantic nature of the building; watching the faithful dip their fingers in the holy water and cross themselves; and staring at the impressive statues throughout the church. A mass was beginning, so I wasn’t able to stand beneath Michelangelo’s majestic dome, just close to it. A friend had recommended I descend to the grotto, then ascend secret steps to the dome. I asked a guard where the steps to the grotto were. He shook his head, “Closed. Close at 4 o’clock.” Shoot. “Can I climb to the dome?” “Yes,” he said. “Exit, then turn left.”
The dome of St Peter’s from the floor, looking up The first set of stairs (about 250) led us to the lower part of the cupola, to the base of Michelangelo’s dome. It was quiet, the only sounds coming from the priest and choir performing Mass hundreds of yards below. The sweet smell of incense rose to greet us. I was transfixed. I stood for half an hour, watching the Mass below take place, occasionally looking upwards at the marvel of Michelangelo’s work. We were surrounded by incredible mosaics. It was almost sensory overload. Everywhere I looked, there was incredible beauty. I made my way towards the stairway.
The dome, up close 
Watching mass from the dome The remaining climb to the top was tedious. Over 300 more stairs, the stairway growing more and more narrow the closer to the top we got. We were all in a single file line, trudging up the stairs. A few floors away from the top, the line suddenly stopped. I heard sobbing. A woman a few people in front of me was claustrophobic and having a panic attack. Her boyfriend turned around and apologized, not quite sure what to do. We waited, then she continued, still sobbing. “You can do it,” I thought. “We’re almost there. Hang in there.” We stopped again, waiting for her panic to recede. I wanted to give her a hug, to reassure her to take her time. We waited, then continued. We finally made it to the top. What joy! What expansive views of Rome!
Looking down at St Peter’s Square from the cupola After walking around, and around, and around the top of the dome, I headed back down, to St Peter’s square. I stood below the balcony where the Pope addresses the crowds. I imagined what it must be like to stand here, waiting for either black or white smoke to arise from the chapel of the Sistine Chapel. I watched the sun set behind St Peter’s before beginning the walk home, exhausted from the overabundance of beauty I had witnessed.
Looking up at the Pope’s balcony. I kept hoping he would peek from behind the curtains.
LoriLoo 