26/10 – Rome Reflections – finally.

I have a vague memory of writing that there was more Rome to come at some stage. Feels like centuries ago, but here we go. Let’s see if I can remember what Mr Nomad and myself were up to that weekend in May. Finally. 

The start of the city getaway was full on right away. During the first two hours in the Italian capital we managed to tick off one bottle of wine, pasta, cheese, ice cream and the must-see Fontana di Trevi. However, the first restaurant didn’t really live up to the high expectations we arrived with. The staff all seemed like they’d skipped their classes at the local high school for the day and had their first day at work that particular Friday. But the Carbonara went down ok, and so did the elderberry flower like wine – easy drinking and good for soothing the slightly dented culinary expectations. In other words, an ok start of the Italian experience. And the restaurants did get better, luckily. And better, and better, and better. Pasta, pizza, bread, wine, olives, more pasta, more wine, I can’t complain at all.

It was just one thing we didn’t manage to grasp when it came to food. Somehow, we were of the impression that the whole point with restaurants having a menu, was to communicate what they would have available for serving. I’m not sure all Italian restaurants would agree on that. Three out of twenty dishes or so was a common average of available courses when trying to order something. To compensate for this, it wasn’t uncommon that they would throw in an additional dish or two instead, preferably instead of the one you had just ordered and most of the times without telling you. But hey, when in Rome… And what’s the big deal really? Lasagna or spinach cannelloni? Scallops or veal? Red or white wine? You would hardly notice the difference, would you? Oh, ok…it would matter, scusi very much…

Except for eating and drinking, the main aims with the trip were to stay city chic all weekend (no GoreTex shoes or sporty rucksacks allowed) and to see all these things all the fuss is about. The old, big and presumably boring sites which you’re supposed to see when in Rome. And since we had decided to be proper tourists for once, we bought it all – the open bus tour, the boat tour, the guided tour, you name it. Only thing we didn’t fall for was the caricature portrait on Piazza Navona. Next time perhaps.

Normally, I’m very moderately impressed by city culture and anything related to historical sites. The yawning muscles start to twitch and my mind drifts away after a few minutes of attempting to show interest. But after the days in Rome, I’m suspecting that it’s all about size after all. I just need it to be big enough for my interest cells to switch on. Remember, we’re talking history and ruins here, nothing else.

The guided tour of Colosseum, Palatine Hill and Forum Romanum was worth every cent. Not only to skip the lines, but instead of seeing piles of bricks and enormous pillars, suspiciously looking to be made of foam and flown in for a Hollywood setting, we saw the banquet halls with the Romans’ gluttony and the private arena with lions for when Colosseum was too far away for entertainment.

The charismatic and bilingual David gave us about the level of historical details I could handle. With the British cynicism and accent from his mother and self-confidence, gestures and attitude from his Italian father, he took us through the endless ruins without loosing a second of my attention. Impressive. For the Romans 'forever' meant forever, not 'forever' as in 40 years like today. As said, impressive.

Of course, the city chic objective had its price, especially since I happen to be a woman. Some twelve kilometres in high-heels is not top of the pops really. Luckily, it’s not every day my poor feet get that challenge. But a weekend in Rome requires high-heels – no compromises possible. And as long as you stick to the quick stop at the Trastevere flat, to change to another pair of high-heels, before going out for aperitivos and dinner, you’ll be all right. It’s all about distributing the blisters and pain you see.

To finish off the Italian weekend on Monday morning, we stopped by a small deli to pick up some fresh juice and salami sandwiches. Then went across the street to sit on the stairs leading down to the arena of Circus Maximus to enjoy our breakfast. Again, an impressive site that made our minds drift away to imagine what it would have looked like thousands of years ago. When getting back to reality I didn’t see the horse carriages charging past though. The only running around going on at the circus was made by slightly overweight locals and their dogs. Time to go home. And time to put some flat shoes on.

More Rome photos here. 

29/6 – The most Swedish of them all, with flowers in your hair and little frogs.

My plans for Midsommar had been set ages ago, thanks to my lovely mother turning 60 on the very same day as Midsummer Eve. A logistic plan of the more ambitious kind had been set up for the Thursday to be able to make it from work offshore Denmark to the summerhouse in the archipelago of Stockholm in time. Not only did it involve back-up flights and helicopters flying as planned, but also amazing friends who were willing to put up with a slightly dictating tone and airport pick-up arrangements to make it all come into action. The minute margin plan was completed when we galloped down towards the taxi boat from the car park and were the last passengers to jump on board before the boat left the harbour. Twenty minutes later we all had a glass of wine in our hands and the most Swedish weekend of them all could begin.

A weekend of eating, drinking, throwing wooden pieces on other wooden pieces, a.k.a. kubb, and of course also the traditional skipping around in a circle around a tall cross while waving our hands at our ears and singing about little frogs. Those of you who are Swedish know exactly what I mean. Trying to explain the dancing around the flower decorated midsommarstång comes through just as weird as trying describe the Lucia celebrations in December, with the boys in nightgowns and white cones on their heads. And for those of you who aren’t Swedish, I won’t even try to give you a picture of what was going on in the parks and on the meadows in Sweden last weekend. You just need to make your way over here another year and experience it together with us; Spinning around yourself while clapping over your head and running around in a circle holding hands, with flowers in your hair of course.

The combination of even birthday and midsummer turned out to be a winner. Family, old friends, new friends, never-ending food and drink supply, hula-hoop performances and a jet fighter surprise, which will never be forgotten by the birthday girl, made it the most memorable midsummer ever. Morning swims in the bay, discussions and conversations shooting across the tables and generations, litres of coffee and heaps of sticky buns, philosophical chats while walking through the forests, sunbathing on the deck, colourful drinks and entrecotes on the BBQ, treasure hunts for drunk members of the party at early morning hours and relaxing on the cliffs by the light house while watching the boats sail past – I couldn’t have wished for more. 

While drinking wine and listening to the birds singing at 4 o’clock in the morning in company of the best of friends, it’s an absolute no-brainer – there’s no other place on the planet I’d rather be. 

9/6 – Only in Italy.

It’s style, and a bit more style, topped off with some style. Slightly different to our Scandinavian officers of order on city bikes with nerdy bike helmets ruining any possible fancy hairdos. Or the ones in bright yellow vests and baseball caps on their heads, trying to keep a somewhat look of authority and coolness in their ergonomically correct boots.

More Rome to come…And photos...

Rome 2011

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Summer 2011 Photos

26/5 – How many pairs of high heels can you fit in 23 kg?

Got some packing issues here. How are you supposed to manage with one bag and 23 kg only for a whole weekend away? Could possibly have managed for other destinations in Europe, or for a few weeks of camping, but for Rome, a whole weekend, no way. Started on a packing list a few days ago and have now narrowed it down to the bare essentials:

• Dark, tight jeans for the journey, cool days and casual evenings.
• Almost worn out, black, wedge heel, semi high boots, probably the best footwear for the flight. 
• Black, rock star style leather jacket, which I was once fighting to get – still another story to come. Won’t ever check that one in, so part of travel set-up.
• Big, nice camera. When we’re not eating and drinking, we’ll be taking photos of ruins. 
• Undefinable coloured, and amazingly chic, Brazilian, open toe high heels, goes with anything but too much walking.
• Frame less sunnies, not as efficient as sunnies, but look pretty Italian...I think.
• Corkscrew, sure it is part of the flat we’re renting, but in case…
• Black, classic style high heels with closed toe, in case we end up at the Opera or something.
• Small lens for big camera.
• Pilot style, mirror glass sunnies, to go with the leather jacket and wedge boots.
• Second pair dark, tight jeans – can’t have too many.
• Favourite Canadian wedge heel sandals, so comfortable you can run in them, in case I get abstinence since my runners are banned from the trip.

Also banned, are all other sports and training equipment, GoreTex jacket, fleece, comfortable baggy jeans, GoreTex shoes, surf shorts, flip flops, big t-shirts, sneakers, cargo style 3/4 pants, caps and beanies and anything with rubber soles or made out of wool. Only comfortable item that can come along is the green dress, which is as nice to run around in like a pyjama, but doesn’t look comfy so no one will know.

• Little, black umbrella, which fits in a handbag. Mainly to cheat the system, since it will rain for sure if I don’t bring it, and be sunny if I drag it along everywhere. But also to make up for the banned Mountain Hardware jacket, if the Italian system doesn’t work like everywhere else in the world when you’re on holiday.
• Flat (only ones) brown leather ballerinas for the sore-feet-and-back-due-to-high-heels moments. A bit like admitting defeat before you even start…but hey, I’m not a high heel pro really.
• Back up corkscrew, in case the first one is lost, worn out or broken.
• Big lens for nice camera.
• Huge brownish 70ies style sunnies to match the ballerinas and Canadian wedges.
• Various chic tops, scarfs and belts, which normally never leave my drawers, to complete the travel wardrobe. Always amazes me that I actually own them.
• The little black one, to go with the closed toe high heels at that possible ballet or opera.
• Brown high, high heel sandals with straps all over, looks great with that green dress, but again, not made for walking.
• All earrings and make-up I own.
• Compeed – part of the looser kit together with the flat shoes.
• Brown handbag, since I couldn’t possibly use the black one with the brown sandals or ballerinas for example.

Anything missing? Sure I’ll manage without it, as long as I’ve got the hang-out-in-Rome survival kit above in order. For a while, I was also considering bringing the tripod, but doesn’t look very hip and chic to walk around with that…would make nice photos though. Might revisit that decision before I leave tomorrow morning. The ancient buildings probably deserve the best.

Almost ready for the Italian capital and a weekend of espresso, Sangiovese, gnocchi, Forum Romanum, gelato, aperitivos all afternoon in Trastevere, focaccia, Colloseum, Muscat, capricciosa, fusilli, caffe latte on piazzas, Pantheon and just eating, drinking and enjoying life in general. Perhaps it’s also time to beat the homemade Argentinean limoncello served at Rancho E'Cuero?  Will be hard, but not impossible.

Will finalize the preparations with learning some of the most important and useful Italian phrases on Google translate during the afternoon. For example: Vino rosso, per favore. - Amo il tuo fettuccini. - Hai bicipite bello. - Dove è l'opera? - Vino più bianco, per favore. - Quanto costano queste scarpe tacco alto? and Si guarda molto sexy.

I’m ready – Rome, here we come!

14/5 – Rock star return.

Tired on the late arrival, I dragged my bags up the stairs to my friend’s place. Any slight obstacle would probably have made me burst into tears in a millisecond. But instead a bed was made for me, a towel waiting on the pillow and I got woken up the next morning by the beautiful words, which I don’t hear too often: "Breakfast is ready."

About a month ago, my temporary rock star life came to an end, at least for a while, but not for too long I hope. Back to Denmark and to my belongings packed away in boxes. Back to early closing hours of supermarkets and hospitality challenges in shops and restaurants. But also back to canoe polo, proper coffee and most of all, back to friends and the best season of the year. Sure, Rio might have its sun, beaches and Caipis on the waterfront. And packing away socks and long sleeves for months is also nice. But nothing beats the Scandinavian spring!

That first day back in Copenhagen threw me right in there. If there’s such a thing as a spring chock, or ultimate spring day – that was it. All thanks to one of my friends. After sorting out keys for my temporary casa, clothes for the next couple of months and breakfast for the empty fridge – can’t expect such great treats as served breakfast every morning – the afternoon and evening was spent with the most springy activity you can possibly imagine – waxing a sailboat! Aahh! Never thought I was so going to enjoy having lactate acid in my arms, while being too hot with my jacket on and too cold if I took it off, that much. Burger and beer at the harbour café once the boat was shining in the evening sun didn’t make the day worse either. Thanks for the great first 24 hrs back in Scandinavia Henrik, just what I needed.

During the following couple of weeks, I was on a total spring optimisation mission. First BBQ of the year on a balcony in Stockholm, chilly of course, but the burger and Nomad company couldn’t have been better.

Canoe polo on a canal on a sunny Saturday morning, followed by a caffè latte in the sun by another canal in the Danish capital. Half a day wondering around on a muddy grass field in gum boots, parka and beanie at summer house-to-be location. Another half a day with Italian food and wine outside for lunch and drowsing off, wrapped in a blanket in the sun on Kongens Nytorv, afterwards. More blankets at an afternoon picnic by the beach, ignoring the fact that it’s actually a bit too cold to have picnics. Runs along the waterfront enjoying the fresh air and not having the sweat pouring off you like when running around Lagoa Rodrigo de Freitas. And no season should be called spring if it didn’t include getting the motorbike out from its winter rest. Spun like a cat, all Easter weekend.

Finally, and not to forget, the light! I never stop to appreciate when the evenings are getting longer and it’s still daylight when you go out for dinner. Almost a shame to sneak inside – even if it’s for Argentinean cuisine and music.

Just ja, grattis på födelsedagen brorsan!