Marty's Ireland and Italy Journal

January 28--From Claremorris to eternity
On a train in from Claremorris: Our tour group flew over from the States last night and is catching up on sleep in Dublin.  We expect a cold weekend here.  There was snow not too long ago in Claremorris, but the weather has moderated somewhat and is nowhere near the cold that we experience in Chicago.   Brian and I just spent the last couple of days in Mayo, visiting my cousin Seamus.  We had a chance to see Ballybrehony, one of the old family farms, and spent a bit of time reminiscing over the times spent playing music there until two in the morning.  It was a quick visit, but I was glad to get back "home" and enjoy the big meals at the Dalton, tease Seamus a bit, visit with Clare and the Lyons.  All a quick whirlwind and now back on the train. 

Dublin: We met everyone with the tour group and went to a pub that was frequented by Bono and the gang.  It was nice to have a Guinness with everyone.  We have folks from Iowa and Virginia on this tour and about half the group are veterans of previous Switchback tours.  So that bodes well, as they are very relaxed, knowing that we take our time and enjoy Ireland.  Seeking dinner, we walked over the Liffey on a new bridge that was built to resemble the harp of Ireland.  There's a restaurant that is on a boat moored to the quay, called the Cille Airne (Killarney) which is incidentally the direction we are heading tomorrow. Everyone settled in for a nice meal, some going right for the fish and chips.  I went for hamburger and Guinness.  Both were delicious and left me in an adequate food coma for a nice night's rest. 

January 29--I got you under my hedge
Driving to Killarney: We have a new coach driver and guide named Mick Nolan.  At least he is new to us.  Mick is a former bassist in a Dublin band called the New Heroes back in the "new wave 80's."  Before that he worked a stint as a circus clown.  Those are not bad credentials for running a tour group of Yanks, as you had better be able to entertain and drive at the same time! He has a wealth of knowledge about Ireland, ranging from agriculture to alcohol.  For example, as we drove along toward Blarney Castle, Mick pointed out the hedge system.  The hedges in Ireland were introduced by the Normans from France. It was a means of not only marking your land, but it drained it as well, as each hedge rests in a ditch that is dug around the property.  The added benefit is that you have a nifty fence for keeping cattle in the pasture!  The system replaced the old Celtic tradition of keeping a somewhat nomadic herd that was rounded up and brought into the ring fort at night.  The hedges are also what make touring by coach so much better than driving.  With the coach you are elevated over the hedges so you can actually see the landscape.  I think many a car renter is disappointed in the limited view most Irish roads afford.  The hedges of Ireland are so similar to that of Normandy that the movie Saving Private Ryan was shot exclusively in Ireland.  Looking at the thick mass of these hedges makes me realize how horribly difficult the Normandy invasion must have been.   While musing on that, Mick had changed the subject over to Guinness.  He praised the drink for its vitamins and iron and stated that the saying "Guinness is good for you" is much more than a slogan.  Maternity hospitals in Ireland get free Guinness to give to expecting (and new) moms.  It must be good for virility too, as Arthur Guinness had 21 kids.  We got to Blarney Castle and our tour split up, some going shopping, some to kiss the venerable stone. Brian and I walked into the pub to have a Guinness.  We sat at a booth in the pub with paper, pen, and pint and figured out that we have at least seven albums of music to record still!

We all joined back up and headed toward Killarney.  The land is nice and green, yet up on the mountains, you can see a dusting of snow, which certainly is new to me, having never seen snow in Ireland all the times I have been over.  As we went along, Mick explained that Americans usually are too impatient for their Guinness and that the drink takes three minutes to pour.  First the glass is filled and the bartender walks away, allowing for the drink to settle a bit.  That's when most Americans freak out.  The bartender returns and tops off the glass, which is crowned in the famous foam.  Now, if you like your bartender, you don't tip him or her like in the States.  You give leave money on the last round and say to them "Now get one for yourself."  A bit more genteel than in Iowa, where you give the tip after each drink and that bartender is happy and will be that more attentive to give you another quick round.  Much more of a ritualistic dance here in Ireland.  I think I prefer the Iowa way, though. We are pulling into Killarney at dusk.  Mick is playing some music.  Good Lord, it's Bono singing with Frank Sinatra, "I got you under my skin."  Yes, this rendition certainly gets under your skin. 

January 30--A seaside concert
I awoke to a huge full moon over the MacGillicuddy Reeks.  It's nice to know that it is shining at this very moment over Annie back in Chicago. I watch it slowly set behind a cloud bank, perfectly offsetting a church steeple.  I am surprised to have awakened this early as last night we played at O'Connor's pub.  We had a nice set and were playing along as the regular musicians filtered in for the night as well.  They stood over at the bar, watching us out the corners of their eyes.  They got pretty excited with Brian's guitar playing though and were grinning and giving us the nod.  Our tour group was joined by more Americans.  We were surprised and happy to see a group from California that we met in Dublin the other night.  They drove down to Killarney and made it a point to catch our set at the pub.  Then I was even more surprised when Kevin Walsh and his wife Elsie came in, having been in Ireland for about a week.  The Walshes are from Gunder, Iowa and have an authentic Irish pub called the Shanti sitting in downtown Gunder, which is basically a crossroad with a service station, a church, a cemetery and a pub, all the essentials for living well in Iowa.  We finished our set and had some Jameson's and watched the seisun players start in.  They were amazing, with one guy playing the Irish Bouzouki and another on the Uilleann pipes.  They had that look like they had just come in off the moors, which added to the magic of their music.  Of course, being a pub seisun, they would play one song, rest for about Guinness, and then off to another tune.  It allowed for people to have a bit of conversation between each piece.   One of the singers started in singing and Kevin Walsh knew every word to the tune.  I looked around the pub and others were joining in as well.  Very magical.  Janell Bradley, who is a reporter back in Iowa, dropped by their table and interviewed the band on one of their breaks.  I think they enjoyed the celebrity.  I left Brian there with Howard and Donna Bright, who have the Haybarn Rendezvous at their place, the Natural Gait in Marquette, Iowa.  I don't know what time they got back in, but the pub had been closed for about two hours, so I am figuring about 3 a.m.

We all assembled in the morning for a ride on the famous Killarney jaunting carts.  They took us out through town, down a quiet lane and into Killarney National Park, where we ended up at Ross Castle.  The castle had a commanding view of the lake as well as the mountains in the distance.  In the MacGillicuddy Reeks reigns Carrauntoohil or Corrán Tuathail, the highest peak in Ireland.  It stands at 3,406 ft (1,038 meters) tall.  Sure there are taller mountains to be had around the world, but rising as they do over the lakes, these mountains are the majestic equals to the Alps or Tetons.  When the carts (which are called Jarveys) arrived, there were these characters driving them.  Our Jarvey driver was named Mick, and he took a shine to Donna Bright, making her sit right next to him and even letting her drive the cart a bit.  He would coo over Donna and look back with a grin toward Howard, telling him that he "liked his daughter."  We all laughed, except I don't how much Howard was laughing.  "Ah, Howard, when you come back to Ireland, you'll get all the free buggy rides you want," said Mick, bartering for Donna's hand.   We passed by a place with a bona fide wishing well.  Mick told us all to close our eyes and make a wish.  Howard opened his eyes and in that Tennessee drawl said to Mick, "Well, I made my wish, but you're still here."  It was all in good fun.  Mick would turn next to Becky Dill and ask her, "Are y' cold?" Not one of the ladies was cold on the cart ride, as they didn't want to cuddle with Mick.  We headed back into town and said goodbye to our horses and their drivers.  We hopped onto our coach and were off to a stop near the Gap of Dungloe, where we all had some Irish coffee to warm ourselves up.  I called my cousin Seamus in Claremorris and found out that it had snowed in Mayo the night before. 

Feeling a lot warmer with the Irish coffee in us, we headed off to the Dingle Peninsula.  Our driver Mick would point out a circle of trees as we'd go by.  "Just make note of it," he'd say.  "I will talk about it later."   We ended up in the town of Dingle and stopped for lunch.  I had some nice fish and chips and, of course, another Guinness.  Happy to have eaten, our tour group took a few pictures there in town and we headed back out toward the end of the land.  We passed near the Blasket Islands, which up to about 40 years ago were inhabited but now are abandoned.  You can still see whitewashed homes perched on the islands from the coast.  Mick took us to a beautiful stretch of road.  The sun was shining, it was balmy, and we all proceeded to get off the bus at his urging and take a walk.  Mick drove about a quarter mile ahead as we enjoyed the great air and sunshine.  To our surprise, the road was cut by a stream that cascaded down from the hills above.  Rather than make a bridge, the stream rolled over the road and we picked our way over the freshet and watched it bound down the mountainside to the sea.  Back on the coach, we drove by some of the old monastic beehive huts that were built by the early Christian monks that lived in complete isolation.  It was these few men that literally saved what was left of Western Civilization during the dark ages. (A good book to read about it is called How the Irish Save Civilization by Thomas Cahill.)  The beehive huts were stones without any mortar, laid on each other until they formed a sort of shape that is best described as a beehive.  A single entryway was all that allowed light into the huts.  Not too comfortable looking, but enough to save civilization.  Mick showed off his prowess as a driver as he backed the bus down this narrow lane to get us close to the beach where the movie Ryan's Daughter was filmed.  Brian and I took out our guitars and played a mini concert for the tour group.  The wind was soft and the sunlight strong enough to be spring-like.  Our group sat on a stone fence and would look out over the Atlantic from time to time.  It was a wonderful place to play some of our music with the sunlight glinting off the far island, Skellig Michael.  We headed back, tired but happy, and stopped for another in Dingle and on to our hotel, where I had some of the best lamb stew I ever ate.  

January 31--Magpies and roadies
Hated to say goodbye to Killarney, but it was time to head to Galway and our friends at Richardson's pub.  The Reeks received a fresh coating of snow last evening and so they looked even more like we were out west in Colorado than in County Kerry.  We drove a bit to Bunratty Castle.  Mick pointed out a fairy tree to the group.  A fairy tree is one that grows by itself out in the middle of a field.  The tree may look innocent enough, but it is actually the portal to the underworld of the muintir na side or the fairy folk.  You don't want to mess with them.  If you do wreck their "front door," so to speak, by uprooting or cutting the tree, you could have a bad harvest or face your livestock catching ill and dying.  So most folks leave 'em be.  The government leaves 'em be, too.  In fact, we were amazed to see that the modern highway we were on took a several million euro curve to avoid one that was right in the way to Bunratty.  
For the last few days, Mick would point out the painted ponies that would either be grazing along the roadside or out in a field.  "Make note of them and I will tell you more about them later," he would say.  He revealed today that they belong to the Travelers.  The Travelers are a semi-nomadic band of people that live in Ireland, the UK and, believe it or not, the US.  They have their own dialect of Gaelic, which is very ancient and refer to themselves as the Pavees.  In Irish they are called an Lucht Siúil, which means "the people who walk."  According to Mick, they could be either the ancient race of Celts or people who were left homeless in the An Gorta Mor or "the Great Hunger," also known as the Potato Famine.  Whatever their origins, they are a truly nomadic bunch today.  They are extremely fond of painted ponies, which they tend to keep in farmer's pastures or tethered to the shoulders of the roads.  They don't use these horses much except for horse fairs and occasional trap racing.  They tend to travel about the country in caravans (or house trailers) and their means of income are fuzzy at best.  The government provides areas where they can park their trailers and discourages them from traveling and parking them wherever they see fit.  Mick showed us that the government, in order to encourage these official sites, had boulders placed on the shoulders of the road.  They also built the new roads with steep embankments that have thick brush on them.  Some of the Travelers have settled in towns.  Mick drove us through one such town on the way to Bunratty.  It was early Sunday morning and so we slipped down a street where there were these lovely, modern homes.  Parked in front of each home were one or two trailers.  The homes were empty.  The people were living in the trailers as they felt more comfortable with the trophy homes right behind them. Next to each caravan was a nice new car or SUV with English plates on them.  It was all very surreal and a slice of Ireland I had never seen before, but was grateful to be exposed to.   

Our stop at Bunratty was brief.  I love the castle but have little time for the touristy part of the stop.  So I walked around the grounds and past the original "Durty Nellies" pub and watched two hunters with shotguns stalking birds on the side bank of the Ratty River, which is a tidal river that flows into the huge Shannon estuary.  The tide was out and so the ancient thick sides of the Ratty were lowered around an old bridge, revealing deep recesses and thick seaweed covered slabs of stone.  Away from the shopping, it was a peaceful respite and could have easily been a scene from 150 years ago.

Brian announced the traditional Limerick contest.  Everyone on the tour has a chance to write as many Limericks as they can about some aspect of the trip.  When we reach Cabra Castle, we will have the winners announced on the last evening of the tour. 

Mick pointed the magpies that we could see as we headed along the road.  This bird is also found out in the American west (strange that it doesn't live in the Midwest, as it seems a member of the crow family would do well) and is known for its black and white markings.  It is a very intelligent bird, and a lot of superstition surrounds its almost human characteristics.  Mick mentioned a poem about the magpie:

One for sorrow 
Two for joy 
Three for a girl 
Four for a boy 
Five for silver 
Six for gold 
Seven for a secret 
Never to be told 

There were a lot of magpies on the tour, mostly in pairs, thank God. 

We drove on to Rathbaun Farm and spent time with owners Fintan and Frances Connolly.  We've been to the farm many times over the years and I feel that this is one of the best places for people to get a feel for a working Irish farm.  That day, Fintan was breaking in a new sheep dog, a young border collie.  The old dog was "retiring" and not able to herd the sheep as well since he was going deaf.  But to watch the youngster try to herd sheep and then see the old dog calmly handle the flock was like seeing a rookie nervously playing for the first time in the majors, only to have the old pro come out and hit a home run.  A baby lamb was also around and Anne Durscher and Pat Gaitten had a chance to feed it some formula from a baby bottle.  The little tail of the lamb would shake a million shakes a second it seemed as it happily downed lunch.  We headed back to the farmhouse and had some of Frances' lovely scones with thick, clotted cream and preserves.  Along with the tea, it was a meal unto itself.  Our group lingered a bit at the farmhouse, Mick and Fintan talking about the old turf cutting days in Ireland while we stood around the turf fire in parlor.  It reminded me a bit of the opportunity I had to enjoy such a turf fire with my own family in Ireland. Unfortunately, the days of turf are going away.  Our group was lucky to experience this bit of disappearing Ireland.  

Our wanderings ended in Galway and our night of music at Richardson's pub.  We started playing Richardson's after the proprietor, Tom, was driving across America and broke down near WaKeeney, Kansas.  He met Seamus Cleland, a friend of ours who is a wise sage and founder of Th' Gatherin', one of the most authentic Celtic festivals in the country.  Seamus told us that to look up Tom some years ago when we were in Galway.  A friendship was struck and we've brought tour groups ever since to his cozy pub right on Eyre Square. The locals were there in force as well and a cousin of mine, David Lyons, came in to view our playing. He also got up and played a couple with me, including a nice rousing rendition of the Pogue's tune "Dirty Old Town."  Fintan's and Frances' daughter Raisa and her friend Rianna, both beautiful girls going to school in Galway, came in to catch the show.  I introduced my cousin David to them to see if they would strike up a conversation, but David was a bit shy.  So much for my matchmaking!  Over on the other side of the pub, Brian was sitting with some of the locals. One fellow in particular had a nice thick Galway brogue.  Not even the locals could understand him, but he was happily talking away to Brian about how much he liked our music. Every so often one of the lads would lean to Brian and say with a wink, "Are ye gettin' all of this now, Brian?"  It turned out to be a late evening, with us playing and then staying up with Tom and our friends the Brights until 3 a.m.   I was proud of tour group as they became instant roadies.  Jeff Bradley got everyone organized and soon they taking our equipment and walking back to the hotel with our speakers, cables and mic stands.  Jeff Durscher was busy snapping pictures of the evening and it was fun to mingle a bit with local folks. 

February 1--Sheep's milk and fertilizer
We left Galway late, thankfully late after a long night at Richardson's.  One of the nice things about running our tours is that our groups can decide how they wish to spend the day.  After a late night, everyone voted to sleep in and walk around Galway before heading out.  Today is what the Celtic calendar calls Imbolc, or the time of the sheep's milk.  In other words, it is the first acknowledgment that winter’s grip is loosening and spring will be on its way. Lambs are born this time of year, hence the feast.  Christians also refer to it as St. Brigid's Day, after the second most important saint after Patrick himself.  We drove on to Athlone, heading across the country to Cavan and Cabra Castle in Kingscourt.  Mick quizzed us on fertilizer.  It seems the Irish put calcium in their fertilizer and he bet us 50 euros that we couldn't figure out why.   We were stumped why a country that has rich limestone and calcium in the soil has calcium put in the fertilizer by law.  No one figured it out and Mick explained that it was added during the times of the Troubles in the north of Ireland, so that the warring factions couldn’t take fertilizer and make bombs out of it.  It is difficult to grasp that this land, that could fit snugly inside Lake Superior, has had such a violent past.  But hope is on everyone's mind and peace seems achievable nowadays.  After a nice lunch of fish and chips, we were back on the bus and people were dozing a bit.  But folks revived and perked up as Cabra Castle came into view.  The grounds are beautiful and we were greeted by the mascot of the castle, Oscar, a huge Irish wolfhound that unbelievably is still a puppy.  The group is splitting up tomorrow as it is the last full day in Ireland.  Some of the group has opted for a sight-seeing day in Derry, some have decided to head in to see Kilmainham Jail and the Guinness Brewery in Dublin, and some have decided to do some local shopping and enjoy the castle grounds.  Everyone was in great spirits as we gathered in the lounge for some wonderful Guinness and a warm fire.  Later, we had a great meal of Irish roast beef, sea bass, bacon, and cabbage with mountains of vegetables.  

February 2--Making a wish
I spent the day at the Castle and had the chance in the afternoon to head out with Brian, Sandy Dickinson, Pat Gaitten, and Becky Dill to Dun A Ri Woods, which was part of the original estate at Cabra and is now a park.  We were driven over by some of the staff of the hotel and it was sort of funny to have Becky, Sandy, and Pat driven by this nice looking guy and Brian and I driven by this nice looking woman...seems to have been plotted out!  We walked along the paths and came across a wishing well.  We all made a wish, dropped in our coins, and took a nice long drink from this silver dipper that was chained to the well site.  It was very good- tasting water.  The whole day took on a dreamy kind of feeling as we savored our last day in Ireland. We were picked up and brought back to the castle, where we were treated to some wonderful Irish coffee.  Brian and I went through the limericks and picked out the best ones for the final hooley of our tour.  After another fantastic meal at the castle, we had our final hooley that night, with Mick reading the winners of the Limerick contest.  It was sad to wind down the tour, but everyone felt it was a great success.

February 3--A fort for every family
Our last morning brought a light snowfall, which covered everything with a thin layer of snow.  The scene was beautiful.  We headed out on the coach, and as we drove in toward Dublin, Mick explained the ring forts that cover the island.  There are 45,000 such forts (one of which was on my family's farm) and they were Iron Age dwelling places.  Each fort had a big ditch dug around it, and behind that was thrown up a palisade of logs.  Several families would live there and in the evening all the livestock would be driven in as well.  The livestock would then provide a means of warmth during the night.  Not the most hygienic of situations, but hey, it was the Iron Age. In spite of that explanation there is still much debate over their use, as some scholars argue that they served strictly a ceremonial purpose, but it seems that dwelling place would be the logical explanation as there were so many of them.  Mick played a couple of songs of his band, The New Heroes, as well, which everyone liked. At the airport, we all hugged and shook hands, all off to their own destinations. Some of our group rented a cottage in Kerry and stayed for a while after our tour, others stayed for three more days in Dublin, while others headed back to the US. For Brian and me, we were on our way to Italy and our next tour.  First stop, Rome and meeting up with our wives. 

February 6--Roamin' 
I write this from Sorrento.  Maggie, Brian, Annie and I spent three days in Rome.  We were joined occasionally by Lauren Neff, who is also part of our Italian tour. When we landed in Italy, we met the girls and immediately headed out to a lovely family restaurant for dinner.  There are a zillion restaurants in Rome, and all of them are family run.  The quality is pretty good, so it is almost impossible to have a bad meal.  I had carbonara, Annie, bolognese, Brian, ravioli, and Maggie, calamari.  On Thursday, we had a half day tour of Imperial Rome.  This was a wonderful walking tour of the Coliseum, the Forum, the markets, and the famous pillar from which all roads to Rome were lead. I was last in Rome back in 1996 and this time around, I found the city much more exciting and inviting.  Our tour guide suggested a restaurant, the "Caffe al Flora,"  and Lauren, who had lived in Rome for a while and could speak some Italian, guided us along, pausing for a while at the Trevi fountains.  All sorts of people congregated there, including some guys with cameras that would poke you and gesture at you to pay for a picture.  If you shook your head, they looked at you like you just shot their dog.  Other vendors had electrical mini-frisbees that they would launch in the air.  These halos would turn different colors as they soared above the crowd.  The fountains were fantastic, and the crush of people along with the vendors gave it a carnival atmosphere.  We ended up finding the restaurant, right around 6:30 p.m.  Most restaurants open late in Rome, so we were about to leave when this lady came out walking her dog.  Lauren asked if the restaurant was open and for us, it was made open.  We came in and feasted on lasagna, carbonara, ravioli, and sea bass.  A huge platter of prosciutto, mozzarella, calamari and a variety of beans was set before us as an appetizer.  We had a couple bottles of Rosso Di Monta "Caffe Al Flora" wine.  The dinner was capped with a dessert of crème brulee. We slowly worked our way back to a bus, full and happy.  It was an easy night's sleep after an exciting day.

On Friday we went to the Vatican and visited St. Peter's and the Sistine Chapel.  The Vatican is impressive and St. Peter's is overwhelming.  Michelangelo's Pieta is something everyone should see firsthand.  It really challenged me to believe that someone could create such a delicate and beautiful statue.   I was filled with a sense of reverence that lasted until I almost was run over by the Vatican Zamboni.  Well, it wasn't a Zamboni as much as it was a marble floor polisher.  It was about a quarter the size of a Zamboni and all white, with the flag of the Catholic Church on the front of it.  It made a little whirring noise and was so completely out of place, I thought it funny.  So I shot some video of it, which seemed to irritate the driver.  He started driving the Zamboni around me, moving closer and closer in. I moved several times as he would look at me. The floor shined beautifully behind him as he kept following me around St. Peter's.  I had to do some fancy maneuvers by the altar to finally shake him, but I feel I helped him reach a couple spots he might otherwise have missed. I headed out quickly after that.   

On the way to the Sistine chapel are several rooms that were painted by Raphael. These rooms were absolutely beautiful from the amount of color and scenes.  It would take a solid week of visiting the rooms leading to the chapel to appreciate all the painting.  One impressive fresco had a statue of the god Apollo smashed on the floor.  In the background was a huge crucifix, of course showing the triumph of Christianity over paganism.  From there, some of the scenes mixed political themes of the day along with religious themes.  It makes for excellent viewing but also underscores that complicated history of the church.   Once out of the Raphael rooms, you enter an art museum, filled with old and contemporary works. It was exhausting to be inundated by so much concentrated beauty.  The amount of time, patience, and love that each artist poured into his or her work, and to have that work there on display for generations to see, was simply awe-inspiring. 

The Sistine was crowded with people.  "No pictures, NO pictures" would be shouted by the security guards.  People would start murmuring among themselves as they gazed at the incredible beauty Michelangelo was able to produce. The guards would shush us and then it would slowly build again, as one felt compelled to mutter something of respect and awe at the chapel.  Inevitably, someone would try to take a picture, which would bring the guards swooping into the head-craning crowd.  "No pictures!" they would snap and take the camera from the offending person.  In spite of that drama, it was an amazing scene to view the chapel and marvel at the fact it was painted by a man lying on his back.  Annie and I left there feeling that this was only a visit and that we hope we could return again someday and slowly take in the beauty.  I thought of the countless souls who had passed through here, each craning his or her neck to get a look at this masterpiece.  It was hard to exit the room, as I felt I was leaving an artistic Eden.  But time was running out and so we hopped on a train...and ended up heading in the wrong direction toward Pisa.  After turning around and managing to get literally on the right track, we found our way back to the Hotel Windrose and went out for dinner with Maggie and Brian at a wonderful Ethiopian restaurant.  With some smooth cajoling, we managed to get a table that was reserved for later that evening.  Lucky we did, as the restaurant was soon jammed with families, dates, and tourists.  The four of us toasted our adventure and had a leisurely meal, leaving in plenty of time for the rightful owners to have their dinner.

Some Rome observations:

Graffiti is huge in Rome.  Trains, walls, underpasses all are covered with names, with some elaborately done.  It does mar the beauty of the city, but even the ancient sites had ancient graffiti on its walls, so it ain't going away. 
English is spoken here. You can practice your Italian, which the Romans appreciate, but all Italians we met could speak some sort of English and well enough that you don't feel trapped in a foreign country.  
No more Roma?  The Roma are the people that some call gypsies.  They are semi-nomadic, like the Travelers in Ireland.  When I was here in '96, they were here by the busload.  Children would surround you and make off with wallets and purses and harass you into giving them money.  Not a one I saw on this tour.  My guess is that some changes in the European Union have helped these people.  Or at least that is what I am hoping. 
Enter the Centurions.  You could get your picture taken with Roman soldiers for about 10 euros.  These guys would stand in front of the Coliseum barking at all the tourists.  They would have several takers.  A person buying the picture would then be seated in a chair, a wreath of fake olive leaves placed in his hair and plastic grapes to hold in his hand.  The two centurions would then stand on either side and make the Roman salute as the picture was taken.  What would Caesar think?
Plants.  The Romans love their plants.  When I was here last, the city seemed dirty and glum.  It still is somewhat dirty, but there are boxes of plants, bushes, palms, and flowers sprouting up on flats and balconies of high rises.  The buildings are all careworn, but the plants spruce it up.  The palms especially are grand, as are the big pines that grow in this area.  

The next morning, the girls took off by plane to Naples and since we were on Aer Lingus with a round trip ticket, Brian and I headed down by chauffeured car to Sorrento.  We thought we would have the luxury of sightseeing, but we were so tired that we ended up sleeping most of the way.  I woke up off and on and was taken by the mountains and fields as we headed south.  The driver would grin at me and say "boun giorno!"  I awoke again outside of Naples and we wended our way past Mt. Vesuvius and the huge plain that makes up the city.  It was mind-boggling to see so many buildings right up to the very slopes of the volcano.  Once we were past Naples, we had a winding and narrow road that took us along the edge of the Mediterranean to Sorrento.  Every so often, the sun came out from behind the clouds and the sea would sparkle.  It was breathtaking.  We were dropped off at the Grand Hotel Flora in Sorrento and checked into our rooms.  My room had a great view of mountains, Mt. Vesuvius, the bay of Naples and orange and lemon groves interspersed with villas and apartments.  It was gorgeous.  The room itself had a colorful tile floor and pastel colored walls of pink and sea-foam green.  The lighting was surrounded by delicate pink flowers done in glass that made the lamp shades.  It was very comfortable and welcoming. Around 2 pm, our guests from the States had arrived and the Switchback tour of the Amalfi coast began!   

Most of our group caught a nap to catch up on the jet lag, but Margaret FitzGerald, Maggie, Annie, Brian, and I headed out for lunch and view around the town.  Sorrento has several squares with a lot of life going on: fish shops, supermarkets, coffee houses, and bakeries.  We took it in and then headed back for a welcome dinner at the hotel.  We had wine, mostaccioli, caprese salad, and a baked cod that was out of this world.  After a great meal we had a finale of a cake brought out with sparklers, reading "Welcome to Sorrento" on it.  Everyone applauded.  We met Enza, our guide.  She is energy personified and her English had an almost Californian accent to it.  Everyone warmed up to her immediately and she took some of us out for a quick reconnoiter of Sorrento.

February 7--A wonderful view, a town with a dog
We drove the Amalfi coast, where its beauty defies words and pictures.  We swept up the narrow highway higher and higher above the coastline.  Each curve brought something new and yet familiar as it was steeped in the mythology one learned in school.  Three islands which were the remains of the Sirens sang to Ulysses.  He was bound to the mast by his crew and had them stop their ears with wax so they couldn't hear the music.  Thus he was able to hear the songs and get away with it.  The Sirens were so mad they became rock, hence the islands.  Sirens and mermaids play prominently in the culture surrounding Sorrento.  One sees the mermaid emblem everywhere and even our coach has it emblazoned on its side.  

We got to one curve where there was a roadside shrine to the Blessed Virgin.  It overlooked the village of Positano.  It wouldn't be our last encounter with shrines as it seems the Neapolitans are very devoted to Mary and the Padre Pio.  Even the buses, cars, and some homes have their faces painted on them.  We all piled out and had some pictures taken of us overlooking the village of Positano.  We drove down to the village as far as our driver, Luigi, could take us.  Then it was off the coach and a walk into the village itself.  One immediate benefit of visiting this area at this time of year was that we had it pretty much to ourselves.  It would be crowded and crazy come summer.  We walked down the narrow streets and saw some of the shops were open.  One shop named Murelli had beautiful coats for women, along with scarves, shawls and belts.  Sue Arnold, Liz Harvey, and Annie were in there immediately.  Annie picked out a lovely striped shawl of brown and soft blue that was edged with silk in a floral pattern of rich purple and brown.  Others in the tour went into other shops and down to the water’s edge, looking up at the towering mountains, all terraced and laced with beautiful little villas.  We stopped into the church before Mass was to begin, the townsfolk quickly heading in, carrying rolled up religious banners and laughing, joking and filled with life.  We slowly walked back up to the coach and headed onward to Amalfi.  Enza would point out how the locals terraced the hillsides and filled them with groves of orange and lemon trees.  Even the cemetery was terraced, with the family tombs looking like little villas under the shade of tall cypress trees.  

We arrived in Amalfi at the marina and headed into town. The group headed to the main piazza or square.  Rearing above the piazza was the "duomo" or Cathedral of St. Andrew with its huge bronze doors and hundreds of steps leading to them.  Legend had it that the remains of the saint were brought from Constantinople after it was conquered and placed in the Cathedral.  As we walked into the church, Mass was in session.  To the left of the vestibule stood an elaborately carved nativity scene. Over the altar was this dark, enormous painting of St. Andrew. Along the sides of the church stood many shrines and paintings.  I stayed briefly as Mass was in full session, the priest talking in soft tones in Italian to his congregation.  Outside, I took a photo of Andy and Sue Arnold in front of the massive bronze doors.  I walked up afterwards and examined the doors’ details.  St. Andrew's image was rubbed to shining brilliance in reverence or perhaps for luck by the faithful.  I rubbed his head as well and headed down the steps.  The sun was shining and the piazza was alive with people sitting out in cafes or running to shops.  Annie and I joined Jim and Karen Sundberg as we walked into the city away from the piazza and the marina.  Amalfi has two street lights, mainly to control the one way traffic heading either uphill or down to the port.  I got accustomed to the sound of wheels on the cobblestone coming right behind me. We walked toward the residential section of town, past an auto repair shop and Annie took a photo of a dog.  There are dogs everywhere in Italy.  These seem to be "town dogs" and they don't have a particular home.  They have a rough kind of look but seem docile enough, as they bask in the sunlight or calmly survey the locals who scurry past them.  So she took the picture of the town dog and we walked into a cafe to have a cappuccino.  For myself, I ordered a "cappuccino decafinato," which when ordering it that way sounds like I have command of the entire Italian language.  I was grateful that I could hang around the caffeine fiends and not feel out of place, sipping my brew.  

We wandered slowly back to the coach and headed further into the mountains for the town of Ravello.  Each turn of the way, Luigi would honk the horn of the coach as we took narrower and narrower switchbacks, so every ten seconds or so you would hear "honk" and around the curve we'd go.  Luckily every car would be way off when we made the turn.  The coach steadily climbed and we headed to the little town of Scala for lunch at a place called Maria's.  This was a little family affair with Maria, the matron of the restaurant, waving to us as we drove in.  We all headed inside and were welcomed with caprese salad, mostaccioli, and a linguine with mussels. The dessert was a fantastic rum-soaked cake, and all this was washed down with "vin du casa" or the house wine of either red or white.  The dining room had a fantastic view of the coast, the mountains, and the town of Ravello across the mountain valley.  An elderly Italian gentleman sauntered over to an electric piano that was set up and started to play some show tunes.  Maggie got up and urged him to play some Italian songs, which I was grateful to hear.  Enza surprised us all by joining in and singing some lovely Italian pieces.  It was the perfect setting for a nice lunch, and we all were happy and tired by the time we boarded the coach.  Ravello, which has a huge music series every summer, was beautiful, but the wind from the mountains made it a bit cold in spite of the sun.  Part of the tour group opted to stay back and look at the scenery from the warmth of the coach.  The rest of us walked into town.  Jim and I explored a neat side street that could have easily been built in medieval times and were rewarded with a glowing view of the Mediterranean. 

Once back on the coach, Luigi skillfully drove us over the mountains that opened on a broad alpine valley that reminded me of driving in the Rockies.  Farms were all the way up the sides of the mountains with little sod shelters, which I guess must be for farm animals.  Unfortunately, we also saw a lot of trash in places.  Mike Harvey pointed it out to Enza, and she said "Yes, a national disgrace."  I am sure tourism will stop the people who are dumping trash along the road.  Our coach made it out onto the plains near Vesuvius, and again I marveled at the fact that a million people would live in its shadow.  Vesuvius erupts every 45 to 50 years and so with the last eruption occurring in 1944, it seems it would be due.  Enza told us the fertility of the soil alone is what makes a lot of people take the risk to build so close to the volcano.  Add to that some fantastic views and you have people.  The locals seem pretty nonchalant about it, and there is a monitoring station up on the volcano, which would provide some warning if it were to go off again.  We arrived back at the hotel, and had a wonderful meal of veal, mostaccioli, salad, and way too much wine. 

February 8--Family reunion
Today was a special day as we headed over to the Isle of Capri.  Once again, we had a good, sunny day and the temperature was warm.  Some minibuses took us down to the marina, where we would hop on a hydrofoil to take us over to the island.  We assembled at the marina and looked up at the town of Sorrento.  From here we could get a great view of the wonderful villas and hotels that are set on the outcroppings and limestone bluffs.  Each is in its own color and that created a festive feeling.  The local town dog was lying on the sidewalk along with all of us, minding his business.  He was a coppery colored mutt with some nicks and scrapes peeking through his sleek coat.  People were coming down from the town to get on the boat to commute to Capri.  One guy came in riding a noisy moped, his big helmet making him look like an alien.  The town dog raised his head at the sound of the moped echoing off the walls of the buildings.  He got up and proceeded to run straight for the rider as he swooped into the marina.  The dog then started nipping and growling at the guy's pant leg as he rolled in toward the parking lot, this little display taking place in front of all of us to our amusement.  The rider had the most bewildered look on his face as he went by and looked back at us like we had sicced the dog on him.  We were laughing at this point, as the dog, satisfied that he did his job, came back to our group, circled around and laid back on the same patch of concrete.  

Andy, Sue, Annie, and I went over to a coffee bar and were joined by Julie Hitchcock and Tim Gehrmann, who sprang for our drinks.  We all had cappuccinos and stood at the bar, chatting about the dog.  There is some difference in what you pay at a coffee bar in Italy.  If you sit at a table, the price can double, but if you stand and have your drink and head on out, the price is lower.  It is quite a clever system and I am surprised McDonald's hasn't figured that out for their restaurants as they could fit in that many more people.

After the dog show and cappuccinos, we headed onto the dock and boarded a hydrofoil.  There awaiting us was our guide for the island, a man named Luigi.  Luigi was an older fellow and had movie-star looks: a thin mustache, swept back salt and pepper hair, perfect teeth; quite debonair.  The ladies liked him and he was pretty affable to the fellas as well.  He addressed us in thick sing-song Italian-English, "Lahees and gendleman."  If you were spacing out he would look your way and add "hellll-oooo," again very sing-songy, "Lahees and gendleman."  Luigi introduced himself and handed out our tickets, and we were away on the boat to Capri.  

I was always curious about Capri, as this was the island where my great-great grandfather, Francis Walker, died in 1889.  I had brought a gold medallion with me from the Galway Cathedral that I planned to leave at some spot for his memory.  He had come from Dubuque, Iowa on the advice of his doctor.  We believe now that he had stomach cancer, but at the time physicians would have patients head off to spas to regain their health, as cancer was a relatively unknown disease.  Grandpa Walker (and his nephew John McHugh of Cresco, Iowa) headed first to the mineral waters of  Carlsbad, in what is today's Czech Republic and then down to Italy and was sent by his physician in Rome to Capri.  He landed about the same time of year we were here, on January 16, 1889, where he would spend the last three months of his life.  What amazed me was that he could write prolific letters in spite of his illness.  His description of what he saw heading to Capri in 1889 is still pretty much how it looks today:

"Well, we are at last located here on Capri, a small island some forty-five miles out in the Mediterranean from the city of Naples*, on the Italian coast.  It is only nine hundred yards wide at one point.  There are two towns, one where we are, named Capri, and one around the Rock of Tiberius, named Anna Capri**.  It is the most wonderfully wild, romantic and irregularly shaped piece of land and rocks imaginable.   The rocks rise straight out of the sea, 1,200 to 1,500 feet, and are very prominent, bristling at intervals with gigantic crests reaching in places much further out than the main rock itself, and standing forth like so many grim yet silent sentinels that for ages have looked down from their towering heights upon the world's commerce passing to and fro over the blue waters of the Mediterranean.  This is a classic spot of ground.  For eleven years Tiberius, the Roman emperor, ruled the eastern hemisphere from this little island, and the ambassadors and great men of all nations had to come to this very spot to transact matters of international concern and pay homage to the emperor of Rome."
*actually more like 17 miles.  He later corrects himself in subsequent letters.  
**spelled Anacapri 

We made the crossing in about 20 minutes and the boat ride was extremely smooth.  Luigi took us all from the pier and we walked to the village of Capri.  There was an apartment with a prominent green balcony.  "Lahees and gendleman, here eez where the actress Sophia Loreeen appeered during the shooting of a feeelm."  He went on to name the film as we studied the balcony, but I was distracted as I looked at the balcony window and saw someone had propped up a male mannequin with a porkpie hat on his head and a clear plastic poncho for the rest.  I turned to some of our group and said softly, "And heeere is now Meester Daveed Bowie."  They all got a chuckle out of it.   We then walked to the main piazza in Capri, called "La Piazzetta."  There was a clocktower on one corner and a famous boutique called "La Parisienne," where Audrey Hepburn had her Capri pants made. There was a coffee shop of course and a church as well as the town hall, all of it bustling under the warm sunshine.  Luigi brought us along a cobblestone street to a glorious hotel that had once been a spa and sanitarium.  My great-great grandfather had stayed in Capri at the Hotel Pagans, which must have been close to this spa, and he wrote on January 17, 1889:

"I am writing now outside on the balcony beneath the window of our bed-room in the warm sunshine, nine hundred feet above the level of the sea.  The day is about like the early days in June in Iowa.  Every species of tropical fruit is grown here.  Oranges, lemons, mandarins (a species of small orange), grapes, figs, dates, pomegranates, olives, almonds and every conceivable species of vegetable.  The orange, lemon and mandarin trees are now loaded down and the sight is beautiful, but not half as pleasant as eating these same fruits at our meals twice a day."

The people at the hotel were working away on getting the grounds ready for spring tourist season.  Fresh paint and sparkling glass picture windows showed the Mediterranean Sea glistening through them.  We walked past the same groves of lemons and oranges that no doubt were descendants from my great-great grandpa's time and Luigi pointed out a school that was once a jail for the island.  We ended up at the "Gardens of Augustus," which had a commanding view of the sea.  Luigi pointed out the "Via Krupp" which was a winding road commissioned by the German steel magnate.  Local labor was paid about five cents a day to build this amazing road down to the sea, a road that still today is private. The Krupp villa was situated on a cliff high above.  It is quite beautiful to see this artistic, winding road, making its way down to a very lush, surreal spot and surrounded by electric blue waters.  I was mesmerized by the Via Krupp when Luigi's voice came from another part of the garden.  "Lahees and gendleman, hellloooo!"  I hurried over to see what he was talking about next, sidestepping a cat that came down from one of the villas to have its head rubbed.   There, Luigi pointed out the Faraglioni rocks.  These rocks jut out into the Mediterranean and once had a lighthouse in Roman times.  A species of blue lizard unique only to the rocks makes its home there.  Lucky lizard!  
One thing you get used to in Europe is having pay toilets.  In a way it is nice if you actually think of the person manning the table as a "toilet guard."  This person makes sure that the place is kept sparkling clean and for about 25 cents or so you can have quite a pleasant time answering the call of nature.  There was quite an attractive toilet which Annie visited.  The guard thanked her and was surprised to hear Annie answer back in near flawless Italian.  He then complimented her on her fine use of the language.  Now, compare that to your last public toilet experience at the truck stop and the argument can be made. 

Luigi gathered the flock together and pointed out the villa where Tiberius lived.  It is still there but unfortunately was too far to reach on our day trip.  Luigi mentioned that the concept of email and text messaging was nothing new for Tiberius.  He had an elaborate system of fire towers and smoke signals that would allow communication between Capri and Rome.  A command could be sent from the island and be acted upon in Rome (about 140 miles away) in three hours.  Not bad for its time! 

Luigi continued to give us geological and historical information on the island.  The island broke away from the mainland about 12,000 years ago and was creeping westward at about a centimeter a year.  "In 30 million years, we reach America," Luigi exclaimed.  He also pointed then to an old castle that was built to protect the island, but failed to do so when the famed Moorish pirate Barbarossa (or Redbeard) sacked the place.  Like all notorious gangsters, there was a restaurant named after him and we proceeded to board a minibus and head up an amazingly winding road the mountain to Anacapri and lunch.  The women of course wished at that point they had all visited the pay restrooms, for the private ones at Barbarossa had no toilet seats.  But lunch was quite nice, and the margherita pizza and wine more than made up for all the acrobatics the ladies had to endure. 

After lunch we headed out to visit the famous Phoenician steps which brought us past the Villa San Michele, which was the home of Dr. Axel Munthe, a physician who came to Capri for his health and stayed on to build a fantastic home, complete with this sphinx overlooking the town of  Capri.  (Margaret FitzGerald took the time to visit the gardens in the museum, which she said were beautiful.)   Dr. Munthe discovered that his home lay on the foundations of an old Roman villa, so the building incorporated much of the villas old material, including some excellent mosaics. The one mosaic in the foyer had a dog on it and in Latin read "beware of the dog."  Not much has changed. 

We went past the villa to the Phoenician steps.  This incredible bit of engineering was done by those ancient traders in order to get commerce up to the Anacapri village. Over 900 steps lead from Capri to Anacapri.  The Sundbergs climbed those steps as they took a side trip away from the group.  Quite a feat.  Our group walked a bit down the steps and took pictures and headed back toward Anacapri, as there were several lemoncello stores open.  
Lemoncello is the local drink which is made from the zest of the lemon, grain alcohol. and a copious amount of sugar.  It is all mixed and allowed to ferment a bit and the result is a very sweet lemonade style drink with a zing.  The shops also had samples of lemon cream, which was delicious (think Bailey's, only lemon) and lemon grappe which was the best, but also had the biggest kick of alcohol.  

Everyone in the group sampled some and we proceeded to get on the bus back to Capri.  A few of us clutched some bottles of Lemon Cream to take home to the States.  We waited a little bit for Brian and Maggie and Brian's sister Catherine Klisz, who broke away from the group and made an unbelievable dash to the very top of the mountain.  There, they had a great view and reported a large metal cross with a votive light on it.  It was amazing they could make that climb in an hour’s time!  We all rolled back down to Capri and had time to do a bit more shopping.  I had a nice cappuccino with Mark Gibson from Dubuque as we surveyed the fishermen crowding the cafe.  Mark and Donna had been on several trips with us and had brought their sons Nate and Daniel as well.  It was time to head back.  On the island, in a secret place, I had left the medallion for my great-great grandfather.  His last words about Capri were:

"The air here is as pure as crystallized ether, and the sunshine as dazzling and brilliant as an ocean of sapphire.  But with all this, give me my dear Iowa home where the loved ones are."

February 9--Did my mother send you?
We had to get up early this morning for an 8 a.m. departure to perform at the Cathedral of Pompeii.  Off we went on the coach heading along the coastline and past the town of Vico Equense, a smaller version of Sorrento, but with just as much charm.  Everyone was anticipating the trip as we had a couple of exciting items on the plate: the church concert, a tour of a cameo factory, and the buried village of Pompeii.  Just as we slipped past the town and took the old road (as the tunnel was under repair) Luigi came to a stop.  Some hurried exchanges in Italian were made among him, Enza, and another driver.  Word got back to us that there was a strike at the shipyard about a mile from the town and that the strikers had decided to block the road. Enza got on the microphone and told us, "Mama Mia, I hope it isn't like 1997, when I had to put a whole tour on the train."  Sure enough, a few turns on the road further, we got our Mama Mia.  There in front of us were about 300 men dressed in black coats with more marching down the hillsides, holding banners.  From our vantage point, we could see angry exchanges between the strikers and motorists hoping to get through their lines.  One car looked pretty banged up and the driver was wildly gesticulating at the protesters.  It was clearly not going to bode well if we had our whole crew attempt to make a pass through the lines.  Luigi managed to get the bus turned around smoothly and soon we were headed back up the road to the railroad station at Vico Equense.  Mama Mia, indeed.  Luigi would have to drive the bus back through Sorrento and over the mountains, meeting us in Pompeii in three hours or so.  Since we didn't have that time, it was definitely the train.  Here is where Enza truly shined.  She wasted no time in getting us off the bus and she disappeared into the station.  In short order she came back out and got us all through the gates and onto the platform.  In about 20 minutes a train came rumbling into view, looking much like the "L" trains in Chicago.  We managed to get the tour onto three cars, everyone having a good time with the excitement.  It was a bit of a pain to lug the instruments, but we were soon flying down the tracks toward Pompeii.  We reached the station Pompeii Scavi and disembarked.  From here Enza had some cars waiting for some of the more delicate walkers in our group.  Ma Fitz, Carol Lango, and Jan Jenkins (the three Princesses, as Enza dubbed them) were able to get a lift in one car.  Carol's son Ted Lango, who has prematurely gray hair, noted their departure and said, "Thank God she didn't say all those with gray hair get to ride."  Everyone had a good laugh at that and we proceeded down the road toward the cameo factory.  From there we split up, Dylan Sundberg, Jim Sundberg, Brian, and I heading off in a car to the Cathedral and the rest heading into the factory. 

We reached the Cathedral and were eventually brought into the sacristy.  There we took over one vestibule that was reserved for priests to change their vestments.  We were feeling a bit lost, as none of us could speak Italian.  It was about 10:30 a.m. and a Mass was going on.  We were scheduled to sing at 11 a.m.  Here and there, ushers in blue coats would dash about, eyeing us with some bemusement and then heading off into the church.  Soon an elderly priest wearing a cap, coat, and a full cassock approached Brian and me.  "English, you speak English?" he asked.  Finding out that we were the Americans, he directed us over another part of the sacristy.  "I speak English 30 years ago in New York," he said.  I suddenly realized that this was the priest who would say the Mass.   "I get Missal," he said and returned with a prayer book that had all the parts of the Mass in English.  He then proceeded to start walking us through the parts of the Mass, pausing and looking at us to make sure he was pronouncing the words right.  The time on the clock showed 20 minutes to 11 and we still had not set up for the service.  The good priest continued to practice with us and for not speaking English in over 30 years, he was doing an excellent job.  However, I realized that he intended to run through the full Mass with us and we just did not have the time.  Luckily, Enza showed up and was able to tell the priest that we needed to set up to play.  He looked a bit frustrated that we couldn't rehearse the entire Mass, but it was enough to get us into the church.  An usher appeared.  It was now 10:50.  He motioned to us to follow him.  As I picked up my case and started walking out of the sacristy, another little old priest appeared, being trailed by an usher.  He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and raised his hand and made a scissors motion with his fingers: snip, snip, snip.  Apparently he felt I was a hippie or something.  My mother would have loved him.  

We were escorted over to a place off to the side of the altar.  Our whole group had arrived and now was seated in the pews facing us.  The ushers brought out two microphones and a power head.  I plugged the bass guitar into it...and got nothing.   I went back to the bass case, pulled out my sans amp direct box and plugged that into the power head and plugged my bass into it.  I hit a note and BUZZ went the speakers in the cathedral.  So I dialed down the volume and played with the tone as best as I could.  Brian decided to go acoustic and have the microphone pick up his guitar as did Dylan Sundberg, who brought out his ukulele, which made a nice complement to the guitar and bass.  

We played some instrumentals prior to the Mass, such as "Amadeus" and "Claire" and then a bell rang.  As the priests came out, we started playing the "Mass of the Living Water" which we had debuted only a month before in Oak Park, Illinois.  And it was pretty neat.  Our little priest did a good job, speaking his English slowly and carefully.  I intoned the answers (my old altar boy training kicking in) and that seem to help the confidence of our priest.  Every so often, I would end up finding myself passing by the priest's intonation as we said general prayers like the "Our Father" and would have to wait a second for him to catch up.  But somehow, miraculously, we managed to do A-OK.   Enza, our indefatigable guide, came to the rescue again, this time giving the first reading.  The words were spot on for what I felt about the Mass, the tour, and the whole 23 years of professionally playing music.  "If God is for us," Enza read, "who can be against us?"  

The Mass was finished and we followed afterwards with two pieces for the congregation,  "Ave Maria" and one of ours called "You Call My Name."  And that was it.  The Italians were kind and appreciative.  Several came over with Enza, who interpreted.  "Your music was beautiful and reminded me of wide open prairies and sunshine," one lady said.  Another lady mentioned that it had the "spirit of God" in it.  High praise indeed as we didn't know what the locals would think.  We gratefully gave each a peck on the cheek.  A photographer from the Cathedral appeared and took some pictures of us as we played and afterwards on the steps of the altar.  Two Capuchin monks were off to the side, both looking like the famous Italian Saint, Padre Pio.  I took it as a good sign.  We returned to the sacristy, but I was sad to see that our little priest who had stayed in New York was already gone.  I wanted to let him know what a great job he did. 

Our group was waiting for us out on the steps of the Cathedral and gave us nice applause as we came out.  Some little gypsy kids saw the group and swooped in to beg.  Enza told us to mind our purses and wallets as these kids unfortunately are skilled pickpockets.  We asked Enza to ask one little boy why he wasn't in school.  He just mugged at us and shrugged his shoulders.  He had all the savvy and confidence of a 30 year old.  We said goodbye to our little friends and all headed back to a restaurant that was situated next the cameo factory.  We all had some pizza and pasta and were enjoying ourselves when this skinny man with a long ponytail came in with his guitar.  He started singing some songs while we were waiting for our meals, coming right up to the table and hoping for a tip.  This  annoyed Enza, who, like the rest of us had already had a full day, and she gave him ten Euros and told him to move along.  In true Neapolitan fashion, this musician began to argue with her (he did pocket the Euros) and said he would sue her for maligning his music. The owner came out and told the skinny man to beat it.  He skulked off, wounded, but 20 minutes later I saw him prance into a tour of folks from France.  

We finished our lunch and assembled for our walk into Pompeii.  Of course, we had the obligatory town dog, which sidled up to us and followed us and our guide Roberto as we headed into the ruins.  A light, misty rain began to fall as we entered a courtyard that was used by the gladiators for practice.  A pretty amphitheater was right next to it and could have easily been used as a performance space today.  I was in awe of Pat, who had a cane and was able to keep up with the group for most of the tour, before heading back with Carol, because Pompeii was not an easy town to get around.  The streets were made of large cobblestones about a foot lower than the buildings, so you had to watch your step.  Pompeii was founded in 7 BC and was destroyed in 79 AD.  So it wasn't an awfully old town.  But when Vesuvius erupted, it covered the town in 35 feet of ash, keeping most of the town intact.  Some of the Pompeian highlights:

No sewers.  All refuse -- human, animal, plant -- was tossed into the street.  I could only guess that this helped make the streets more level as the stones were totally uneven and this would fill the bumps and cracks.  Perhaps after the excavations the matter was hauled away.

The streets.  As I mentioned, the streets are made up of big cobblestones with ruts from the wheels of the chariots.  At crosswalks there are three big stepping stones that the people would use to avoid the waste in the roadway.  How horses or people pulled those chariots down those streets defies my imagination.  Must have been a bumpy ride! 

28 whore houses! One "advertisement" on the street was an erect phallus chiseled out of the cobblestone.  It pointed in the direction of the nearest bordello.  The prostitutes were highly paid slaves, like the gladiator.  They apparently had some social status as well.  A Roman would "be going to the wolf" or so the term was roughly translated from Latin.  He would come to the house and above each room would be a picture of the various delights that could be arranged.  Roberto explained that since Rome was a vast empire, it encompassed many languages, and so pictures were the best for getting over the language barrier.  A visitor merely had to point at what he wanted and then figure out the charge for it.  Each room had a rough stone "bed" about four feet off the ground.  I can only guess they were covered and comfortable.  I wondered what happened to the customers the day the volcano erupted. 

Everything seems exposed!  You walk into a building and there are some beautiful frescoes, completely open to the air.  The curators also have their storage facilities open to the air. Perhaps this is just so the tourist can see some of the art, with the rest protected.  Over 60 acres of land comprise Pompeii and 80% has been excavated since 1760.  I wondered how much was saved, sold or destroyed.

The citizens. Perfectly preserved molds of people, even dogs, in their last moment of agony as the toxic gas and darkness enveloped them.  The excavators discovered that if they poured plaster into these molds, a perfect likeness of the deceased could be obtained. One poor soul had a thick belt around the middle waist, the mark of a slave, with the slave owner’s name on it.  Very much like a collar we would have for a dog.  I had no way of knowing if these people could have been happy.  Women had no power or standing in the society.  It was very much a patriarchal town.  

It was perhaps the weather, misting rain down on us as we walked through the streets, but there was something very dispiriting about the visit to Pompeii.  The one thing was that we hadn't advanced too far from 79 AD, as all the political announcements, sex, and violence were there to be had.  But on the bright side, I think we had advanced as far as caring for people.  Certainly we are getting it right with the role of women in society.  So perhaps we have learned after all.

We came out of the ruins and stopped to make purchases at the cameo factory.  The cameos were made in Roman times and still are popular today.  I had a chance to observe an artisan at work.  He had a bit of shell that was stuck on a blob of wax and attached to a wooden stave.  The artisan holds the stave in one hand and can chisel around the shell with the other hand.  The result is a beautiful likeness of a person's head from the side view, much like a coin.  The shell gives it a creamy color and can also have other colors in it as well, being quite beautiful to look at. 

Everyone was happily tired as we made our way back onto the coach, which Luigi did have to drive around the mountains.  The way back was clear, as the protesters obviously felt they had made their point.   At the hotel, we had a wine and cheese party with Brian and Maggie, the Arnolds, Mike and Liz Harvey, Cory and Marilyn Connelly (all four from Kansas), Tim and Julie, as well as Rebecca Teisch from New York and Karen Kargel, who is from Colorado.  Annie and I brought down some "Lagrima de Cristo" or the "Tears of Christ."  Enza explained that according to local legend, after Satan rebelled against God and was kicked out of Paradise, God was so sad that he cried. Tears fell to earth around Sorrento and the grapes that grew from the tear-stained soil were some of the most perfect to be had.  So the locals named the heavenly wine after its founder. 

February 10--The only Bourbon I like, I drink
It was raining full force today as we took off from the Hotel Flora and headed north to Naples.  We passed the strike area and being practical they were not out today as it was raining.  We headed off to the palace at Caserta, which was the seat of the Bourbon dynasty in Italy.  We arrived at the huge palace and headed into an underground parking garage.  The restrooms were the most bizarre, with basically a "crouch zone" for those needing to answer nature's call.  I had never seen anything like it before. We headed upstairs and into the rain.  Some African men were standing around hawking umbrellas.  I bought one for five Euros and it was an excellent investment as the rain persisted for the entire day.  

Caserta was built on a scale to rival Versailles.  It simply had enormous paintings, statues, galleries, and rooms.  A grand staircase with a domed ceiling was the first thing that greeted visitors.  Around the rim of the dome, musicians would be placed, and so as your coach and horse pulled up, you would have this feeling of awe, compounded by ethereal music wafting down on you.  At the top of the stairs we met Marise, who was to be our guide. We were each given a little radio device so we could hear her as she walked us through the palace.  

Each room was elegantly painted with classical scenes from mythology, as well as some lovely Bourbon propaganda, showing the rulers in all their greatness.  With over 1,200 rooms, it was pretty mind-boggling as we went from one gilded hall to another vast hall.  One of the halls was where the G7 had its meeting during the Clinton administration.  I walked a bit with Margie and Gerry Walsh from Dubuque.  We were trying to get decent pictures, but the size of the rooms made it pretty difficult. 

There was something about being a "commoner" and walking through all this huge, pompous excess. As Andy Arnold said to me, "You can understand why Marx and Lenin were so successful with their revolutions. The ruling classes built huge palaces at the expense of the poor working guy."   It made me empathize with the dock workers who had blocked the road the day before.  Wonder if someone lives in a palace at their expense? 

We were pretty hungry by the time we got outside the palace to view the gardens.  A small electric bus would pick up people and drive them from the palace about two miles to where the gardens ended.  From the palace, you could see this hill in the distance with water cascading down it.  There was a huge fountain at the base of this waterfall and this went on into reflecting pools that looked a bit like the Mall at Washington DC., except these pools were bordered by hedges and a fine road. Statuary were at various intervals and it was very impressive to the eyes.  If only the bus had been as impressive!  It was underpowered and would chug slowly out to the fountains and then back.  The Kansans opted to enjoy the gardens from the comfort of the restaurant but sent Mike Harvey to do the scouting. He and the rest of us boarded the tiny bus and headed out to the far away fountain.  

When we reached the fountain, we discovered that the waterfall cascading into it was, incredibly, man-made.  It tumbled into this enormous pool that had a marble statues in a scene from Greek mythology when Artemis, the hunter goddess is seen bathing by the Theban prince, Actaeon.  He, being a guy seeing a goddess bathing, decides to look a bit more than he should and is discovered.  Well, she didn't like the fact he sees her bathing and so turns him into a stag, which got all his dogs upset and they kill him.  Not a good day for Actaeon, thus the true meaning of a stag party. 

The next pool was a scene to Eros (Cupid) and Psyche.  This was as lovely a pool as the first, with marble statues of the two lovers in total bliss.  From there the pools continued to cascade about a mile further toward the palace.  It was a marvel of perspective and in spite of the rain, it made for a marvelous scene.   The green bus was way back at the palace and so some of our group started walking back in the rain.  Eventually we rounded up everyone on the green bus and headed back to the palace. 

We returned from Caserta and had our first concert at the Hotel Flora.  Dylan Sundberg got up and played an original song he wrote.  Dominic, the bartender, kept the glasses filled and everyone had a great time.  Some of the tour group headed out for dinner, but the rest headed for what was one of the best meals of the tour, a wonderfully cooked sea bass.  At the end of the meal, Brian asked if I could sing something in Italian and I dug deeply into my days at Mundelein College when I was considering a career in opera and sang this song:

Una furtiva lagrima
Negli occhi suoi spunto:
Quelle festosee giovani
Invidiar sembro.
Che piu cercando io vo?
M'ama, lo vedo.
Un solo instante i palpiti
Del suo bel cor sentir!
I miei sospir, confondere
Per poco a' suoi sospir!
Cielo, si puo morir!
Di piu non chiedo.
Si puo morir,
Ah, si, morir
D'amore! 

One tear that falls so furtively
from her sweet eyes has just sprung,
as if she envied all the youths
who laughingly passed her right by.
What could I want more than this?
She loves me! I see it.
One moment just to hear her heart,
beating so close next to mine,
to hear my sighs like they were hers,
her sighings as if they were mine!
Heavens, please take me now:
All that I wanted is mine now! 


Andy Arnold's look of surprise was a total reward for me.  It was the first time (and only time) that I had sang an art song for anyone since college. It was nice to have sung it with friends, in beautiful Sorrento. 

February 11--Say Cheese! 
One of the nice things about traveling with Switchback is that you can relax.  We all did just that by sleeping in today.  Annie and I awoke, dressed, skipped breakfast, and headed into Sorrento.  We walked past the piazzas and down a narrow street, stopping to admire an ancient domed building built by the nobility and now a working man’s club.  We had "the best cappuccino" in Sorrento at a small bar, where a dough mixing machine merrily prepared the day's pastries with a solid "whump-whump-whump" sound.  The owner behind the counter had a toddler, about 18 months old.  He was a cute little boy, who would grab empty teapots and drop them as quickly as she could pick them up.  After our drink, we smiled and waved at the little fellow.  The owner tried to get him to say "Ciao" to us, but he just stared with his big eyes.  We turned down a side street and ran into Peggy Moss, one of people on tour, who is a teacher out in Iowa.  She was taking in the final full day of Italy with a nice walk as well.  

Annie and I continued to explore, finding this little park that overlooked the fishing docks of Sorrento.  Continuing on, we found a shop that exclusively carried inlay wooden creations, everything from tables with exquisite country scenes on them to pictures of the Blessed Mother, all done in various colored woods.  We headed back to the hotel, savoring our final walk around town together.  Luigi was there with the bus and soon we all were aboard and heading out to a lemon farm.   

I had to admit that I thought that this might be sort of a dorky thing, to go and see lemons at an orchard, but the trip turned out to one of the highlights of the tour.  We were led into a small farm, which did indeed have lemons growing everywhere.  But there was also an old barn in which there was an olive press and the many baskets for squeezing the olives through the press.  It was a fascinating and physically challenging process that happily for the farmers, had been replaced by more modern methods.  We walked over to an outdoor kitchen where there was a lady, Maria, making mozzarella cheese.  She had been doing this since she was 16 and it was again another rapt audience who watched her as she mixed fresh milk, added rennin, and cooked the mixture.  The first cheese made ricotta, which means "twice cooked" and that she skimmed and strained.  Then more milk was added and the next cheese made was mozzarella.  This Maria placed in a bowl of extremely hot salt water (her hands were red and obviously she had developed a tolerance to scalding water) and this solidified the cheese.  Next, Maria would take the cheese and twist it into a long braid which was then made into a circle.  At this point, the guide told us, now Maria has something very important to say.  We all leaned forward.  She broke out into a beautiful smile, held up the braid and said, "Cheese!"   We all took pictures.  Maria had orders from local restaurants and customers.  Big balls of yellowed mozzarella hung in nets from the ceiling of the kitchen.  It was a lovely, country scene of abundance.  And it made us all hungry to try the farm's cheese.  So we headed over to an area that was sheltered with a canvas roof.  Here were about 20 tables, each with a nice big bottle of local red wine sitting on it.  After all having a glass, a huge feast next came with the freshest ricotta, mozzarella in thick slices, tomato slices, mostaccioli, prosciutto ham, salami, and bread with olive oil.  We gorged on that and then along came pound cake soaked in the farm’s famed lemoncello.  After lunch, we sauntered over to where the farm folks had bottles of lemoncello, lemon jellies, lemon cream, and grappa for sale.  We all tasted quite a bit of it and enjoyed the mountainside view of the town of Sorrento with the blue sea framing it.   It was hard to leave the farm, as we knew it was our last outing as a tour group.  But left we did and headed back in to the hotel.  

Brian, Jim and Karen, Annie and I headed off in a cab to the little fishing docks that were pretty much off the tourist path.  Jim took his camera and we worked on shooting some music for the song If I Could from the new album.  We got dropped off at the docks and lugged our equipment to this overlook that had several ancient apartments clinging to the cliffs.  Vesuvius was directly across the way from us and there was a bit of good light as it was partly cloudy.   A black and white cat came over to check us out, as well as the residents of the apartment which we were in front of.  One little old lady, seeing the cat, went back into her apartment and later came out to her balcony with a couple of frozen fish.  She tossed them down to the cat, which seemed at first befuddled at clattering frozen fish.  She soon figured out that this was a meal and started munching on one of them.  A couple of gulls slyly swooped down on the unattended other fish and I watched as one gull upended the fish right into its beak and forced it down its throat.  Off it went, with the other gull screeching angrily after him.  

We spent the next hour taking different angles of us playing and singing to an I-pod.  Brian would do one take, then I would do the next, then we would have Brian listen to the I-pod and I would try to keep up with his playing guitar.  I don't know if we got the video or not, but it was fun to attempt it.  The scenery was beautiful and I was sad at leaving Italy and having our trip come to an end.   Karen and Annie took leave of our filming to get in some last minute shopping and so after a few minutes more of filming away, we packed everything up and walked back to the hotel.  We took a winding street that seemed right out of the Renaissance and ended up near the Syrene Hotel and the gorgeous Pompeian restaurant, with its sweeping views of the Mediterranean. We caught up with Karen and Annie as well as others from the tour, who were also getting in their last bit of shopping.  

That evening we had another concert at the hotel with the final song being a request for “Danny Boy.”  We all then went to the dining hall for our farewell meal of tender veal, caprese salad, and seafood pasta. The highlight was a cake that came out with "Arrivederci" on it as well as some sparklers.  We all applauded our great wait staff for their fantastic job that whole week.  A few minutes later, one of the waiters dropped all of our dirty dishes and we applauded that, too.  

We created a thank you card for Enza.  Annie did a drawing of the Faraglioni Rocks and Brian wrote this poem:

On the rocks of the blue lizards
The symbol of Capri
They used to light the fires 
To warn the ships at sea
The monastery is now a school
A prison the children say
Above, Tiberius' castle
Overlooks Salerno Bay 

We took some final pictures of Brian and me with each table, gave a toast to all our friends on the tour, and got ready to head home.  The next morning came early and the tour, including Annie and Maggie, were up and on the bus by 4:30 am to catch the flight from Rome.  Brian and I had to fly back to Dublin as we had a round trip ticket on Aer Lingus, but we were up with the crew and boarded the bus to say goodbye to everyone.  Enza gave us both huge hugs.  I was truly sad to say goodbye to such a wonderful guide and person as Enza.  I shook Luigi's hand and he got on the bus, got behind the wheel and off everyone went, with Brian and me waving goodbye.  And it was sad to watch the bus depart and strange to walk back into the now empty hotel where for the past six days there was so much fun and energy.  Mother Nature seemed upset too, as a huge lightning and thunder storm came through minutes after everyone left. I opened the door to the balcony and listened to the rain and the thunder roll across the bay toward Naples.  

About 5:20 am Brian and I headed down to the lobby with our guitars and luggage.  Our driver came along and we got the bags into the van and he took off like Mario Andretti down the empty streets of Sorrento.  The storm was still raging, but now along with the rain was a thick slice of sleet that covered the road.  I decided the best thing to do was to sleep and so sleep I did, all the way until we were back on the autostrada, heading to Rome airport.  It had started to snow and Brian, waking up, looked out the window and said it was "starting to look like Wisconsin" and fell asleep again.  We ran into traffic about 25 kilometers from the airport and our driver stopped the van to rush off and answer nature's call at one point, as the traffic was crawling.  His wife would then call on the phone and even though I couldn't understand his Italian, it was clear that she was wondering when he was coming home.  "Autostrada, Autostrada!" he would say, moving his hands through the air.  We gave him a good tip for his trouble, as he did a fantastic job of getting us to Rome through rain, sleet, snow, traffic, nature calls, and his wife. 

We boarded a flight to Heathrow and it was sunny as we flew north, the Alps splayed out below us and glistening with snow.  Brian heard one English lady berating Canada to a friend.  "Nothing ever happens there," she said.  Obviously she has never enjoyed a hooley on Saint Joseph's Island or enjoyed the great people of Canso, Nova Scotia.  It made me look forward to heading back to North America and getting back to some of the wonderful shows we get to play.  But first we had to cool our heels for three hours at Heathrow and board a shuttle flight to Dublin.  We made it to Dublin, hopped on a bus to Bewley's Hotel in Swords, and checked in.  A bunch of little girls were riding the elevators, giggling and having a great time.  As we approached, one girl heard me talking and said "Where are y' from?"  Her friends all gathered around her.  "Chicago," I said.  "America!" she said and her friends all looked at us with some sort of wonder.  Then she got a very serious look on her face.  "What is that food called that you have in America, it's sort of a hot dog and it sits on a stick?"   "A corndog?" I said.  "Yes, yes," she said.  "What do they taste like?"