Category: Traveling

ALERT: FLORENCE AIRPORT CLOSED UNTIL MAY!

We wanted to make you aware of an announcement made at the Florence airport this week. Due to unusually high levels of air traffic over the past two years, the runway at the airport is in need of emergency repairs, and the airport just announced that it will be temporarily closed for extraordinary maintenance starting at the end of January.

FLORENCE/FIRENZE — We wanted to make you aware of an announcement made at the Florence airport this week. Due to unusually high levels of air traffic over the past two years, the runway at the airport is in need of emergency repairs, and the airport just announced that it will be temporarily closed for extraordinary maintenance starting at the end of January. The length of the closure is unknown at this point, but a press release from the airport indicates that they expect the work to be finished by May. Here is a link to the press release about the closing of the Florence Airport

During the temporary closure, most major airlines are re-directing their flights to Pisa Airport. The Florence airport authority recommends that any travelers affected by the temporary closure should contact the airlines directly. Below is a list of airline websites, for your convenience. Travelers already booked to fly into Pisa or into Rome should not be affected by the Florence airport maintenance. The Pisa airport is located about 2 hours from Spannocchia, and is an easy drive. We can provide you with driving directions, if needed. If you are taking public transportation, there is a train station right in the airport that has trains connecting to Pisa Centrale and Florence – Santa Maria Novella on a regular basis. You can check out Italian train schedules at the very good (and in very good English) train web site:www.trenitalia.it

Airline websites:
Alitalia
Lufthansa
Air France
KLM
British Airways

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This just in today, Friday, January 13, 2006, from our friend Erin Cinelli the director of Spannocchia, the Agri-Cultural Estate, just outside Siena

Thank you for the heads up on this important travel advisory, Erin.

Michelangelo. Of New York.

The hotel is very cool, very downtown and quite Italian. Coming in late Saturday night, I saw bound-up stacks of ”La Republica” next to stacks of New York Times. And get this: they carry Rai Uno on the TV’s in their rooms! Our satellite dish in Umbria is so out of whack that we can’t get Rai Uno in Italy. And they get it in NYC? How DO they do that?

NY, NY— Let’s see, how can we contort being in the Big Apple for the Country Music Awards into something Italian? Could be tricky. No. Wait. I think I see an opening. OK . . . how about this: we stayed at the Michelangelo Hotel and saw works by the real Michelangelo at a gallery?

The hotel is very cool, very downtown and quite Italian. Coming in late Saturday night, I saw bound-up stacks of ”La Republica” next to stacks of New York Times. And get this: they carry Rai Uno on the TV’s in their rooms! Our satellite dish in Umbria is so out of whack that we can’t get Rai Uno in Italy. And they get it in NYC? How DO they do that?

We blame our problem on Moonlight. Our satellite TV guy, who we could not find on our last trip, is poetically named Marco Lumadiluna. Marco Moonlight. Could there be a more evocative name for the person in charge of bringing moving pictures down from the heavens? Allora, non fa niente.

GALLERY SLAVES

The art by Michelangelo was in the Salander-O’Reilly Gallery up by The Frick on Central Park. Our son, Zak, is the librarian at the gallery and master of what looks like hundreds, maybe thousands of art reference books. So, we had to go see him, in situ, in this new-ish job. What a place. Sculptures by Bernini, paintings by Tintoretto, carved life sized madonnas, rooms full of them, in fact. Crucifixs? What size do you want? We went to the Salander Gallery after seeing the Fra Angelico exhibit at the Met and before going to the Frick and before we saw the illuminated Italian manuscripts at the Public Library.

As you enter Zak’s domain in the fourth floor Salander library, the first thing you come to is a Cellini sketch. And a signed letter from old Benvenuto, himself. In the totally, non-public reference library! I guess I can, make this about Italy. Yes. Yes, I can.

LA DOLCE VITA, LA DOLCE VINO

We ate at several fine, fine Italian places in the city including Scalinatella which is just down the street from the Four Seasons on the Upper East Side on East 61st. Hyper hip. All the waiters spoke Italian to each other. Loudly. And in an accent I had never heard, so I got a case of timid and didn’t get into it with them. Food was off-the-chart good. Waiters were suave, funny and engaging. And the wine. Aces, truly aces, 1999 red wine from Montalcino, which is near us in Italy. Just velvet.

You know, this shoehorning Italy into New York is pretty easy, once you get into it. We also had great Italian Proseccos and pastas at Orzo. On west 46th in the Theater District. We ordered all kinds of fun anti pastas for the table and dived in and liked it too.

What with cappucchinos every morning and Italian food almost every night, it was rather like being in the old country. And the Fra Angelico show I mentioned at the Metropolitan was Really like being there. I did not previously understand, or fully appreciate how articulated and gilded his backgrounds are. From studying him in art history I knew he was amazing, in person and in quantity it was really overwhelming. The detail, the etched lines in the gilding in the feathers of the angels was just too wonderful for words. He could paint on wood in a way that would make that wood turn into surreal, luminous, precious metal, fabrics truly fit for angels to wear. And consider, if you will, these pieces of art are hundreds of years old. My mind boogles and reels at seeing them. Imagine the people of the times seeing these when they were new.

SHOW ME SOME STARS

We were lucky enough to tag along to party where James Gandolfini (Tony Soprano. How Italian/American can you get?) was hanging out in the middle of the night in a big party house on Gramercy Square. We did not speak, omerta and all that, but for a moment, we were so traveling in the same circle.

Oh? The Yoko thing? OK, she may not be 100 percent Italian, but as long as we are name dropping here . . . we had finished our Italian sausage sandwiches and I was shooting some photos near Zak’s gallery. A pretty Japanese bride was walking to her wedding photo session in the park, her formal, hoop’ed wedding gown hitched up to mid thigh over white Nancy Sinatra type boots. I was focusing on that, when Midge poked me in the shoulder and said See the Purple Jacket that just went by? Yes. You just missed it . . . That was Yoko. Oh, no!

Buone Feste! And Happy Holidays too!

TRAVEL HINTS FOR THE LONG HAUL TRAVELER

ITALY, UMBRIA . . . AND BEYOND — First of all, I am not a total straight line kind of guy. I try to be organized, but ten minutes after I have cleaned the garage, my office, anything, I’ve got everything all stirred up again. I’m a mass of carefully controlled confusion at most times, but total chaos reigns when I am traveling. Keys for Maine, keys for Italy, driver’s license, passport, international driver’s license, plane tickets, whoa. . where DID I put those tickets? So many things to take with on a trip. Or not take. Finally cured myself of donating a Swiss Army knife to the security guards every, single, trip. That took awhile.

Ok, Hint One. Hey, the bulk of us are not immigrating when we go abroad. It is just a trip for heaven’s sake. Are we going to places totally without stores? Well, I hope not. But, you would never know it from the freezer-sized pieces of luggage I see so many people checking in. I hope my daughters are both reading this. The stuff they will bring for a weekend should come by truck or cargo ship containers. But anyway, I’ll just say it: I hate waiting for bags to come off the carousel after a long trip. Only thing worse? When they don’t come off the carousel and you have to go describe your precious cargo and hope it really does eventually arrive and they really do bring it to you, before your vacation is over. But the waiting is wearisome. And your mind is racing as you are pacing. How long will the taxi lines be? Will all of these people be cueing up ahead of me? Will my ride wait for me? Will the last bus come and go while I am cooling my heels here? Customs. Look at the line growing over there.

So. I take one small, but light and efficient, wheeled suitcase. End of story. One. After a lot of false starts and inopportune choices, mine now happens to be this vaguely purple one from L.L. Bean. We ARE from Maine, afterall. Yes, this is not an ad. Think they probably have plenty of business as it is. But this is a nice bag. We have actually got plenty of dumb bags at Beans, as well. This just doesn’t happen to be one. This one works. Light, simple, efficient. Typical, wheeled bag big enough, or actually, small enough to qualify as carry on.

When I get off a bus or out of my car, I pull out my bag, I lift up the pull handle on it and loop my laptop bag’s hand straps over the pull handle. Totally obvious concept, everyone does it. For good reason. That way, the pull bag can carry my laptop. And not me. And then, I’m off like a shot. Traveling light. And since I am not waiting in line, ever, for random bags on the carousel, it DOES matter, if I am early off the plane. So, I ask for seats on the aisle and toward the front as a matter of course. Not THE front. That’s for babies. You don’t want to be there. Just sort of toward the front. When the plane lands, I can be through the airport, past customs and on the bus headed north to Portland while people from my flight are still milling around hoping their bags made the same trip. And it works coming in, too. On this trip, there were hundreds of people in line, out-going. The Air France guy that presorts you as you get in line and makes sure you are on at least the right airline, on the right day, saw me and my carry-on only, and waved me out of a line of literally 2-300 people and into a line of two people. I was number two. Living lite and living large.

Once through with check-in, I head for a wash room and put my belt with metal buckle, wristwatch with big metal band, coins, ANYthing metal into a pocket of my laptop or small wheeled bag and I go through security like nobody’s business. I’m squeaky clean and they rarely ever look twice at me. And I do what they say and not act all surprised at the last second. If they want laptops out, have them out. Shoes off? Same deal. I was through check-in and security in maybe 10 minutes. In Boston, Mass, with throngs of people going the same direction as me. I win! I win!

FLIGHT JACKET? GO AHEAD: PICK A POCKET, ANY POCKET.

Hint Two For some un-recalled reason, someone at our office had flagged an article for me from the WSJ and I took it home to read. My attention wavered and then wandered over to the ad next to the article. Very homemade looking, cartoon-y ad talking about this magic sportcoat. At least that is what I call it. Duluth Trading Company has it. And now, thanks to the internet, I have it. I am from the Midwest and I think Duluth is in the Midwest too. Minnesota, maybe? But I had never heard of this company. I don’t know if it is a fashion statement or not, but I’ve seen worse in the airports. You sweatsuit wearing people know who you are. Yes, I am talking to you. Anyway, this coat is Denim and it is lined. Way soft. But here is what got me: pockets, pockets, pockets. Deep ones, big ones, small ones, pockets hidden inside pockets, zip top, flap top, open top. This was its first trip and I used it day in and day out. Totally passed the travel test. I thought I was going to be, at one point, a wild life photographer vest wearing kind of guy. Got the vest, wasn’t that kind of guy after all. I put it on, I hung it back in the closet. This sportcoat, on the other hand, works for me.

In the airport, passports and tickets go in a big inside pocket. Note pad and pencil in a big outside pocket. The paperback I’m reading goes in another. I’ve got what I need during the flight, on me. I pack the rest of the stuff up over head and never look back. During the days and nights around town, I’d shove my clunky old camera, (digi, but old and big as a couple cans of Spam) into one pocket, cell phones in another and I am ready to go, knowing I had my minimum requirement of Stuff, my security blanket.

It helps me maintain my number one travel rule. Be prepared. Prepared for the moment that may never come again. At least have your camera and a note pad with you at all times. Even if you are ”just going for a quick coffee, dear”.

Writing this, right now the jacket is on my lap defending me from the Air France Air Conditioning. So, now it’s a security blanket, with pockets. And no, this is not an ad either. I know it may sound like one, but believe me when I say there was no money in any of the pockets when I got it and Duluth’s computer thanked me in an email for being a valued new customer. So, I paid them vs the other way around. I’m just saying what works for this guy after a million three hundred trips, might work for someone else somewhere down the road.

Uh, oh. Company Coming.

I tell Daniel to take a nap- and head out- and I feel relaxed, until I see my knuckles are white and my jaws clenched- ok relax girl, there is no traffic and its easy- stay focused- don’t look at the clocks that say 3.30- eeek!

This is another WileyReport. This was a lost file from last month’s September Grape Harvest festival.

Today- I did two loads of dishes, one of laundry, spruced up the whole house, took out the trash- please tell me I put it in the right dumpster! Swept the garden, scraped all the dropped figs of the ground- there were bucket loads. And buckets more appeared as soon as I had finished. Went to Castiglione del lago for gas and phone money. Worked on a web page.
Went to the piazza and struggled through a conversation with Simone at the bar to ask if there was music in town tonight- there wasn’t -but no matter, but I understood what he said and tonight I go to Bertonni to see Celia.
But man was I tired- never underestimate how long chores can take- if you’re not really sure what you’re doing!

I was just heading over to Celia’s to watch a folk music concert- which actually turned out to be a comedy play and town Cena! When I found a note on my door saying PAULETTE WAS IN TOWN!!!! YEAH!!!!!! The gray clouds don’t matter- life is good I got another party buddy, and an arty, fun up for anything one at that! So I make my way down to her door- and ambush poor, fresh-from-San Francisco-via-a-week-in-Paris, Paulette into coming with to Celia’s- and of course she was up for it. We went to a great Cena (town dinner of Pici and Duck) near Celia’s and then headed home before it got to late, only to go back to Paulette’s and stay up drinking wine and talking until 3.00! Excuse me- how did that happen?! (photo is the kitchen ladies in their official shower caps resting post cena . . .near Bertoni. By Paulette and her trusty Sidekick cell phone)

Then Friday was the day of reckoning- More tidying, more website, at 6.00 Paulette came over for some snacks and wine- and to send me on my way to Rome- alone- to pick up Daniel. OH MAN! Well the drive there was fine; I made it all the way, with surprisingly good radio, and little traffic. Daniel got it at 12.45 from London we were on our way back by 1.00- late but fine.

. . . And then our trip took a little detour! Well, y’know it is such an easy ride back from Rome, and it really is, especially in the daytime- but at night there are a lot of things you took for granted in the day.

Like it’s only my 5th day driving in Italy. I’m driving a new car (see photos) that has loads of new dash instruments, a little distracting green light in the rear view mirror, a massive overhead skylight. Italian direction signs that look different at night. Loads of twists and turns, and an exit that goes straight! While the main road takes a jagged badly signed veer. Then when you take that exit, and realize it seconds too late, because its easy to see in the day, but invisible at night, you think you’ll be able to just hop right back on…oh no! You drive 20 minutes until you see a hotel, run in and teach your boyfriend how to say- bona sera, parla inglese? Oh thank goodness the answer is yes! He tells us how to get back onto the main rd. where I see a sign for the airport and think ’ forget it I’m starting over’! So back at Fiumicino we begin again. I tell Daniel to take a nap- and head out- and I feel relaxed, until I see my knuckles are white and my jaws clenched- ok relax girl, there is no traffic and its easy- stay focused- don’t look at the clocks that say 3.30- eeek! But we make our way back and are home by 5.00 am. When Daniel suggests I open my birthday presents! Yeah! I feel my second wind! So we do that, and they are all great! Really lovely and I even got a jacket which I needed as it’s a touch cold and rainy lately, but never mind that, because after all the excitement of the night before- we are ready for the Festa!!!

High over the Alps headed to Umbria

Andrea pointed to a table for two. And says I put you right by the heater on this cold night. Really? The little gold “Reserved” sign is for moi? Kind of choked me up. I feel the love. I feel the love, praise the Lord, we have made it to the Promised Land once more!

Leaving on a jet plane. Yeah. All systems Go. Going. Gone. We slipped the gravitational pull of Logan International in Boston and a couple random movies and rubbery raviolis later I was rushing through DeGaulle in Paris. Shortly after Paris I was up in the air over the Alps and the next thing I knew I was getting into a taxi in Chiusi, Italy and saying “Panicale, per piacere”. I found Wiley! She looks great, the house looks great, even in the cloudy rainy weather. I managed to stay up till real Italian dinnertime to get on myself sort of on Italian time and then we treated ourselves to dinner at Masolino’s, next door to our house.

They had a table reserved – in case I wanted to come – because they knew I was landing that day! Can you believe? Andrea pointed to a table for two. And says I put you right by the heater on this cold night. Really? The little gold “Reserved” sign is for moi? Kind of choked me up. I feel the love. I feel the love, praise the Lord, we have made it to the Promised Land once more! We ate the food, we drank the wine. I came home, fell into bed and slept the sleep of the seriously jetlagged. Except for a few minutes in the dead middle of the night. Where the heck am I? Did I say it was raining? It took some doing waking me from the coma-like state that I was in. But this was a wild and wooly midnight gully washer. Very freaky Friday weather this fall. We were here all last September and it was shorts and tee shirts in the garden till sunset everyday. Into each life.

But that was Friday. OK, that was yesterday too. But Today is another day. It is literally Sun Day in Sunny Italy. Sun on the rooftops, sun in the sparkling raindrops still hanging on the tip of every tree leaf. Sun in the Piazza. And, why there’s my daughter in the Piazza too. We had cappuccinos and watched the world go by and then had them all over again. And then, the bells began to ring and the village church at the top of the piazza poured a lava flow of wedding goers out and over the sun drenched piazza. We had to think All is Right with The World. I may even go home and garden for a while. I think I will.