OMG, Switzerland.

Guh. (That kind of says it all.)

I was afraid that I’d be cheated out of some spectacular views today (Thursday) because it was hazy/cloudy in Lugano. As the elevation rose, the clouds burned off, and I sat, mouth agape, trying to wrap my head around how spectacular these Alps are.

I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if Switzerland has a national army of garden groomers on hand to clip every little blade of grass in the alpine meadows. Some rivers look like someone laid a huge piece of crumpled cellophane over some rocks, others look like they’ve had glass laid over them.

There are no words to do justice to the beauty of these mountains. There are very few words to describe how genuinely long the tunnels under them are. The trains emerge from them for about 1.12 seconds, just long enough for you to get an eyeful of the most picturesque thing you’ve ever seen in your life, then back into another tunnel. But it’s mostly just ridiculous views, towering mountains, classic looking Swiss chalet type deals, and goats.

The photos don't begin to capture the awesomeness. I will never be able to afford the camera that can.

I had to change trains in Lucerne, so I decided to skip one departure for Interlaken and try to find that bridge from the poster I had as a kid. Someone gave my sister a travel agency poster for Lucerne (which I grabbed when she moved out… was it Suzi who gave it to her?) many, many years ago and ever since then I’ve wanted to see it. I got about 50 feet from the main entrance to the station and I saw the bridge. In a lake. Filled with swans. And ducks. And yes, crystal clear blue-green water. I walked over the bridge, and there are paintings in the trusses of the roof… I think it must be the story of Lucern or Switzerland or something.

And I said to myself, “Oh man, I could really live here.” Seriously. I mean I could for serious live here. I grabbed a little snack for the train, and am now sitting aboard the “Golden Pass” rail line, waiting for departure. In a town I need to visit again. And again. And again.

On another thought, you’ve really got to hand it to the Swiss. Everything I’ve seen is spotless and charming, what’s modern is nice modern, what’s old is kept up very lovingly, everything is efficient, everyone cordial, and the standard of living looks to be a lot higher than most places I’ve seen thus far. All that and being isolationist (but friendly with neighbors), avoiding the EU, sustaining many different cultures in one country (FOUR national languages?! I’ve never even heard Romansh!) and making awesome watches, chocolate, and cheese.

Sigh.

Seriously, I could live here.

It's a town for spending money

Photos are here.

Fortunately, I don't have cash for Bvlgari.

The train ride today was fairly unremarkable except for two things; the color of the rivers and the height of the mountains at the end. I saw a river that was clear and aquamarine... then I saw a river that was red as vino rosso. Then the Alps start to rise up, and there are a series of lakes in between mountains. If these are the foothills of the Alps, the real thing might make me collapse.

Tonight Lugano, a tiny resort town, tomorrow classic Switzerland in Grindlewald.

For dinner tonight I had the most delightful Caprese and a plate of French's mustard a sublime risotto with saffron. Yurm.

For desert, marmalade tart and cappuccino. The tart tasted basically like an orange fruit roll... the more or less generic ones that used to go in homemade lunches when you were in grade school, but with the flakiest crust I've encountered this side of the Atlantic. And this coffee after dinner thing is awesome, but it's keeping me up nights.

I walked down the hill and intended to take the funicular back up. Sadly, I did not find the funicular at the bottom of the hill! It was a hell of a walk back up the hill!

The bed in my room promises to be the most comfy yet. Oh, dear sleep, thou shalt be mine.

Unable to lose myself

Photos are here.

My second day was pretty much spent trying to get lost. I hopped to the other side of the Grand Canal and walked and walked without a point to my walking, and ended up at the Frari Church. A woodcarving by Donatello, an impressive painting by Titian, Titian himself (well, his ginormous tomb)... all of it in a VERY old church that had timbers spanning the arches. Pretty amazing.

I don't have photos of any of these churches because Italy is apparently pretty conscious about conserving their stuff, unlike other places.

I took the vaporetto out to the eastern end of the city, which is pretty much a huge garden park. Then a vaporetto back a different way with the intention of losing myself in the streets. Didn't happen. I can always get back to the canal. I guess it's hard not to, though.

I tried a place I'd seen the night before for dinner and it was a real let down. The night before, dinner had been leisurely and had taken probably an hour and a half. Each course came out in a rapid fire at this place. Bleh. Oh well.

I walked toward St. Mark's (again, because it's awesome), and in yet another attempt to get lost, I headed down a little alley and heard a man calling out behind me, "no, no... noo." It dead-ended and I turned around to see him half chuckling at the stupid tourist (didn't tell him what I was trying to do). As I walked by him, I said, "Basta Chianti..." meaning I "enough Chianti" as if I was drunk... and he chuckled and said something about that's what happens when you're in Venice, but I didn't turn around again.

Gondoliers singing and paddling (no, I didn't take a ride... the cheapest are about $120 for 40 minutes), candlelit restaurants at the water's edge, a romantic's paradise. When one of the dueling orchestras is playing "Bolero," you know you're far from Oregon... and when the orchestras in St. Mark's Square are playing "Memory" from Cats, you know it's time to leave.

Venice is every bit the fizzy pastel sunsetland portrayed in the watercolor prints sold in the cheesy tourist shops. But it's when the last bit of pink is draining from the velvety clouds that the city gets incredible.

I went and had a good night's sleep.

Il Mare Mediterraneo

Photos are here.

I'd never seen the Mediterranean before, but it's beautiful in color... chalky blue-green. All throughout Venice. When I stepped out of the train station, it FELT different... it had just rained, and it was moist out. Oh yeah, and then there were the buildings jutting out of the water.

Since I couldn't check into my hotel until 1pm, I decided to go to the neighboring island of Lido and get a better look at the Adriatic and have some lunch. I got my 48-hour vaporetto (essentially a water bus) ticket, but decided to walk from the station to the Rialto (main bridge over the Grand Canal) and catch the vaporetto there. The little alleys were quiet and the little squares (campos) were warm. Then I got to the Rialto and everything went apey.

This bridge is easily the largest tourist trap I've yet seen. People everywhere. Shops selling cheap souvenirs everywhere. Nuts crazy ape times.

I caught the vaporetto and headed to Lido, where I instantly fell in love. I think it was the first time I said to myself, "wow, I could really live here." I walked to the other side of the island where the beach is, and I sat, with only a few other people around, looking out at the ocean.

When I finally walked back toward the vaporetto stop, I saw a restaurant all covered in white (I guess) wisteria, a sweet little patio where I HAD to have lunch. I had a pizza with cheese and capers and it was ah-maze-ing.

I finally went back to the main part of Venice and didn't have any trouble finding my hotel (no, I did not use a map... just from the directions I read... more on that later). Hotel Centauro was at the end of a tiny little two-person-wide alley off of Campo Manin. One charming, tall, hot, good-suit-and-haircut-having (no, i didn't fall for it!) desk clerk later, I entered my room.

At first glance, the room was gorgeous. Fabric on the walls, ceilings that were far too high with timbers poking through the top. Yes, gorgeous and wonderful. But Hotel Centauro had its shortcomings, which is why I imagine it was the cheapest thing I could find in the center of Venice.

I had a little chill at the hotel then went walking. Venice really is a special place, guaranteed to melt the hearts of even the most devout cynic. In the late afternoon I walked to St. Mark's Square and got into the basilica with no problem (say what you want about Rick Steves, dude is completely right about everything, including going in the late afternoon/evening to this particular place), which is good because apparently there's usually a huge line.

At first glance, St. Mark's is dingy on the inside. Then you realize that there are all different colors of marble making the walls, that there are golden mosaics in the domes, and the floor is rolling and uneven due to the 1000 years (or so) of the island settling (they built venice on millions of trees cut down and shipped in... which is sooooo hard to believe). It's a beautiful and very Byzantine church, at first very strange to my western eyes. But it's hard not to love.

I then went to the top of the Campanile (the tower at St. Mark's Square) and gazed over Venice (seeing all the way to the Dolomites) and fell even further in love with the place.

Then I toured the Doge's Palace, which I'll just say is quite a bit more impressive than I thought it would be. The largest oil painting in the world resides there, and it's in a spectacular room.

I took a brief break at the hotel, then decided to hunt for food. Now, the thing is, the plan was to "get lost." Literally, I wanted to walk until I didn't know where I was and stop and have dinner and then find my way back. I tried this several times while I was in Venice, but I failed every time. I know I brag about it a lot, but my sense of direction is truly honed, and if I can't get lost in Venice (seriously, more tourists standing with a map out in front of them scratching their heads than anywhere else I've been... in fact I'd hardly seen any until I arrived in Venice).

I had dinner on the patio of a charming little place, eating Caprese with the creamiest mozzarella I've ever tasted, followed by a lasagne Bolognese that makes all other lasagne look stupid. And a small bottle of chianti. Seriously. This meal was amazing. Followed it up with cappuccino and a walk to St. Mark's. Which is truly stunning in the evening.

Honestly, I liked the city in the daylight, but at night... at night, it's breathtaking... and nearly empty. I felt like I pretty much had the place all to myself. Make a note: If you ever go to Venice, DON'T YOU DARE stay on the mainland and just go in for the day. You'll miss the best part.

End of day 1 Venice. Oh, except I got bug bites in the Hotel Centauro. Bastards.

Mom, Dad... recognize the song of the gondolier?

All aboard THE NIGHT TRAIN!

Thank you, James Brown. And don't correct me.

I have to admit, I was a little excited about the night train. There's something about it. Something so old world and romantic about. Yeah, too bad you're with yourself, PR.

I splurged a little so that I could have a sleeper to myself. I wasn't too excited about being stuffed in a sardine tin with a stranger for the night, nor was I excited at the prospect of someone in a six-sleeper taking off with my bag. So, me, tiny room on a train, 12 hours in front of me.

The only problem with the night train is that you can't see the scenery. We went through the Austrian Alps, and I missed them, but more about that in a sec.

I got an approximate (and surprising) 6.5 or so hours sleep on this train, thanks partly to episodes of "The Office" that I remembered to load onto my computer before I left home. But then my battery ran low, and the only outlet in the cabin gave little pulses of electricity every 15 seconds or so.

I fell asleep around 11 and woke up at about 2. I scurried to the window and could make out the shadow of a mountain with snow on top of it. I stayed awake for an hour or so, then fell asleep again.

I woke up at 6:30 and the landscape looked different. We were in Italy. We went over a river that was a beautiful aquamarine color. Definitely different.

A sweet breakfast, three hours, and a two mile long bridge later, we were in Venice. And Venice is DEFINITELY different.

The Schönbrunn & the Prater

Photos are here.

I bought a 12-hour subway ticket, went to the post office after breakfast, mailed a mess of souvenirs to myself back home (phew! lighter backpack!), and then deposited my big backpack in a locker at the station. I still had a whole lot of time to kill before my 8:40 night train to Venice.

My last day in Vienna was spent at Schloss Schönbrunn (Schönbrunn Palace... I DID walk up to the Gloriette... and listened to Toshack Highway and it was PERFECT), where for a whole heck of a lot of years, the Hapsburgs reigned over the whole of the Austro-Hungarian/Holy Roman Empire. To say the place is impressive and sprawling doesn't begin to do it justice. You'll just have to check out the photos.

Still, many hours to kill.

I went back to the centrum, I wandered and wandered. Ended up eating fish and chips at an Australian bar. How... I don't know... ambienceless? Yeah, pretty much. There was a British guy there watching football (soccer) and getting genuinely worked up when no one else in the place seemed to give a tiny rat's ass. It was entertaining. I then saw the most convincing one man band in the street outside the restaurant. That was entertaining as well.

Still having too many hours to kill before the train, I went to the Prater to ride the ginormous Ferris wheel. For those of you that know the Boardwalk in Santa Cruz, I'd have to say that this place is roughly Vienna's equivalent, but it seems to be an attractive spot for the really, really slick (I'm assuming) bridge and tunnel crowd of Vienna. Dudes with fake tans, shiny hair, and rhinestones on their shirts. You get the picture. Someone we'd picture as a German listening to hardcore techno and grinding on whatever is around.

There were many rides there that made me sick just looking at them. Exactly what about being flung tens of feet in the air while rotating around a bar does NOT want to make some people puke? I avoided those rides. And not just because mere moments after boarding the Ferris wheel I remembered that they make me a little nervous. Right.

I strolled the park grounds and left for the station at around 7 and got there with a little more than an hour to spare. (And as a little explanation... In German, Vienna is Wien, pronounced veen... so there's why that photo is so funny to me. All evidence is pointing to me loving puns in European languages.)

I found a bottle of Zweigelt in the glorified 7-11 equivalent at the station and boarded the train with the bottle of wine and my Leatherman corkscrew. Woo wee.

The painting in Vienna

Photos are here. (And btw, I should be all caught up with the photos from Prague in the next couple of hours. I figured out a way to streamline my uploading. Plus, all links will now open in new windows... yay!)

First just a note about Vienna vs. Prague: Prague is like Vienna's evil twin. Evil may be too strong word, though. If Vienna is royalty and light, Prague is cunning and dark. Maybe some sinister undertones (not that the city is sinister... it's just that it looks just Eastern European enough that it's disorienting). It's like the twins were separated at birth... like in The Prince and the Pauper. Vienna was raised with every lavish extravagance, and Prague was thrust into communism and is grasping at whatever it can get in the capitalist world. They're nearly equally good cities, though. I'd lean a little toward Prague. I like the darker buildings and the roof lines better. One is acid and one is alkaline and both are very potent.

And I had no idea that Prague is sooo baroque.

Anyway, you get the picture. Now, sweet friends, about today...

Those of you who know about my... err... well, not quite romantic, but maybe symbol-loving? side... the need I have for certain things to mean certain other things... ok, let me start over.

Some of you may be aware of the things I need to see in Europe before I die. There's a painting in Vienna, a sculpture in Rome, and a church in Ronchamp, France. Well, really, there are more things than just those, but those are the three that I have chosen to make a lifelong plan of seeing. I really don't even know why those three are it. There are other things I like more.

Originally, I was going to see them all in one trip, but I figured maybe it would be nice to see them in three different trips, that way I'd have to come back at least three times. Right? Right. I'm in Vienna and today was the day for Correggio's Jupiter and Io. Fantastico!

Also, let me tell you that I knew that there's a King Tut exhibit at the Museum of Ethnology while I'm here, and I was kinda excited to see it.

With all that in mind, why don't you pull up a chair... let me tell you about my day.

I made it kind of a late morning because I was tired yesterday and a lazy start to the day seemed about my speed. My first stop was to be the Spanish Riding School where the world famous crazy jumping Lipizzaner horses have their morning exercises (yep, open to the public for a decent fee). I got there around 11am to find a standing room only crowd and white horses trotting around on dirt in the bottom of an ornate hall. And that's all they did. They trotted. There was one horse that did a few jumps (one of which I caught on video, and I'll try to upload it), but other than that, it was just lusty music, men in old fashioned costumes and... white horses trotting and stopping occasionally.

So, ok, yeah, that's fine... how about we go across the way and see the Hofburg Palace silver collection, Sisi Museum, and royal apartments? Yeah? Sound good? OK! I mean, you can only buy a ticket for all three, you can't just see the apartments, so great!

The silver collection was nice and everything... a shit ton of plates, some silverware, and extraordinarily extraordinary candelabras. Yeah, cool.

The Sisi Museum was, uh, interesting. Thing is, Sisi was Elizabeth, wife of Kaiser Franz Joseph, and someone who (as far as I'm concerned) meant far less to history than, say, Maria Theresa or her son, Joseph. They sure made her up to be a romantic figure... I'll leave it at this: because she was assassinated, and because she was apparently unsatisfied with royal life, she, for some reason, is intriguing to people. Sure, I liked looking at her dresses and hair ornaments, but I would have rather seen historical stuff from Maria Theresa. ANYway...

The royal apartments are lavish and all that, but I guess I was expecting Versailles. Not that I would really know what Versailles looks like, but I think it would be more lavish than this. I found them interesting, but not as over-the-top as I thought they would be.

Ok, across the square to the Naturhistorisches (um, natural history) and Kunsthisorisches (yeah... art history) Museums. They're twin buildings and they're insanely impressive. Outside and also inside... I was almost more interested in the lavish baroque insides of the museums than I was in the contents of those museums.

The Natural History Museum was similar to the one I saw in Frankfurt, but far more elaborate. Rooms filled with rock samples, meteorites, ancient human remains and artifacts, animal bones, and yes... taxidermy. Though the displays were nicer than the other, the animals were not... they were older and more faded... somehow sadder. I liked the museum, but I was excited to get on to the main event... the painting!

I went across the platz to the Art History museum, bought my ticket, checked my bag, and went upstairs. I waded through thousands of pieces from ancient Greece and Rome (yes! very cool!) and went upstairs to the painting gallery. I moved from room to room slowly... looking at paintings by Titian, Caravaggio, Velasquez, Bruegel, Rubens, Vermeer... Italian light studies, Spanish portraits, Flemish landscapes... works I hadn't really thought about since art history classes in college. I had forgotten how much I like The Hunters in the Snow, and how very different northern and southern paintings looked in the 16th & 17th centuries. I think these days I prefer painting of the 19th century because it's less restrained and concerned with perfection... more emotional, just like how I prefer the classical music of the second half of... WAIT. I'm at the end. No green fog. No Io reclined in helpless bliss. I DIDN'T SEE THE PAINTING.

I walked back through the galleries, back through all the northern stuff, even. No green fog, no chunky Io half reclined in rapture. Dumbfounded, I went back down to the ground floor and waited in the information line. In the back of my mind, I considered that there was a cabinet (a smaller gallery on the outside of the main ones, closer to the windows) that I somehow missed. Yeah, that had to be it. I got to the front of the line and asked the little old lady if the painting was in the museum. She didn't understand what I was saying, so I wrote "Jupiter and Io" on a piece of paper, and in her broken English, she said, "Ahh... I think second floor, in smaller cabinet. Italian section." Breathing a sigh of relief, I went back up stairs.

I went through the Italian section again, and again I missed it. I was starting to make another round (this time I would ask the next attendant I saw where the painting was) when I saw it. There was a blank space on the wall with wires hanging down where a painting would be hung. I stepped closer and read the card.

Correggio / Jupiter and Io

Then I read the business card sized notice posted above it. And while I don't know German, I figured it out.

Sent to a special Correggio exhibit in Rome. May 20 - whenever.

Sigh. Nothing I could do.

I considered going to Rome, but the exhibit starts May 20. I'd miss it. I have a feeling it had only been gone a day or two. Meine damen und meine herren, I missed my painting.

Dejected, I went down to the museum shop hoping that they at least had a post card with the painting on it. Nope. Just a calendar. A 2009 date book type thing that I'd never use. Great.

My feet were killing me by this point, and I didn't know where the Museum of Ethnology was (King Tut exhibit), so I decided to go back to the hotel for a rest. I'd go for a stroll in the park later. Or something.

I crossed the street and staring right at me was a 10 foot full-color photo of the iconic image of the gold and blue sarcophagus of Tut. I had found the Museum of Ethnology.

Determined to see something really cool that day (yes, I really had seen some awesome stuff already), I queued up (there were only a few people in line) and bought a ticket that I thought was overpriced before I even went inside. No cameras allowed. Of course, I understand that. Put my bag in a locker? Ok. Let me in, please.

After stopping for a mandatory (pff) 2-minute video about the treasures of the pharaohs (that told us absolutely nothing about the treasures of the pharaohs, but must have been designed just to get folks fired up before being released into the halls), I was released into the halls. All the descriptions were in German, but I'd be damned if I was going to pay another 5 Euros for an audio guide. I went kinda fast through the thing as I couldn't read what things were, after all, I kinda just wanted to see the golden mask thing. And then I got to the end.

Now, tell me if I'm wrong, but don't you think that if the golden masky thing is on the ads for the exhibit, it's reasonable to expect to see the golden masky thing in the exhibit? I think that's perfectly legit. Well, apparently that's too much to ask. It was not there and I felt completely ripped off. Completely. It was all just marketing. I am embarrassed to say how much I paid to see the fucking thing, and I'm feeling like a sucker for not asking if I would actually see what I wanted to see. But how was I to know? AND, they had a big expensive shop at the end of it and I laughed when they wanted me to buy some stuff. In fact, at this moment, I'm a little peeved at myself for not asking for my money back. I mean, cool Egyptian stuff and all, but it was totally false advertising. Honestly, the Egyptian section of the Art History Museum was better.

Back to hotel? Yes, definitely. Nothing else will catch my eye today.

So, to sum up, today really put the "pain" into "painting" and the "oh" into "pharaoh" (as in "oh, you must have seen me coming from a mile away," or maybe just "oh shit," I guess...)

All this makes it sound as if I had a really bad day, but I had to be pretty snarky for the post, didn't I? I was badly disappointed. Twice. But I did see some really good things. So, called it a moody day. The weather has been moody, too. Rain, sun, rain, sun. I kinda like that, though. Never know what you're walking into, and, apparently, that was the theme of the day.

Gelato to soothe my soul tonight, I think.