Amazing deli section at Peck

We ate at two of their satellite restaurants, with great luck,
and had gelato from their counter daily.

Gelato flowers

Aida at Arena di Verona

Simon received a glowing recommendation for the operas staged at Arena di Verona, a Roman amphitheater built in 30 AD. Its acoustics are excellent, and it has been hosting opera performances since the Renaissance. Franco Zefferelli designed some Verdi productions to take advantage of the setting.

Milan was on strike the day we were traveling to Verona, so we were a bit held up at the train station. The train we were planning to take was canceled, and we were nervous about getting on the one train that would get us there in time.

We got on the train 30 minutes early and sat in 1st class. A friendly lady started talking to us in Italian, but we didn't understand her and she stopped talking. About 5 minutes before the train left, we were confronted by 2 people with reservations for our seats (reservations unavailable to us a few hours earlier). Nervously we walked through a very full train until we found a couple of seats, and the train left the station.

Many passengers stood and crammed into the lounge cars. The person checking the tickets was evidently on strike as well, and we rode for an hour and arrived in Verona.





After a tour of the town, including a lovely cathedral and some ancient city walls, we ate a wonderful multi-course fixed price Italian meal on a patio near the amphitheater. The fruit and vegetable course was abundant with antipasti and melon and cheeses, followed by risotto and tortellini, and a plate full of roasted meats and sausages. We had to leave before the dessert course, but were sated for the 3 hour opera ahead.



We got to see Aida! I was glad I'd seen it twice already so I could follow the plot. Italians don't need subtitles for Verdi.

Balcony in Milan

Simon loves balconies above all other hotel amenities.
Our balcony in Milan was a welcome retreat from the busy city.

Our view was of the private courtyard, where the bar staff was
serving aperitivo and cocktails to a chic crowd late into the night.

Taking a break from Italy's sunshine

Andrew warned me, but I didn't listen. Ken Follett's sequel to Pillars of the Earth, World Without End, was difficult to put down. By the time we got to Italy, I was deeply engrossed in the challenges facing nuns in the 14th-century as the plague killed more than half of the population.

One young builder had left England for a tour of Italy's architecture, and his reflections on the change matched my observations about the Mediterranean heat:

Italy had Gothic cathedrals, Milan being one of the greatest, but modern-minded Italians did not like the architecture of France and England: they regarded huge windows and flying buttresses as a foreign fetish. The obsession with light, which made sense in the gloomy northwest of Europe, seemed perverse in sunny Italy, where people sought shade and coolness.

Italians identified with the classical architecture of ancient Rome, the ruins of which were all around them. They liked gable ends and round arches, and they rejected ornate exterior sculpture in favor of decorative patters of different colored stone and marble.

We visited Milan's Duomo and the Basilica of Verona. The Duomo is Gothic in its construction, and the facade is made of beautiful light pink Candoglia marble.

They were tuning the organ while I was there - an unfortunate exercise that sounded more like the vuvuzela than music.

We think these sepulcres were the oldest thing we saw on the trip - 1058!

The Basilica of Verona was a welcome respite from the heat. Merthin was right - large windows would have seemed perverse when the afternoon heat hovered around 110°.

Even Jesus found a way to escape the heat!

Spilling problems

In addition to the usual tourist destinations, sometimes I like to go out in search of a bakery or a lunch spot in a random part of town, just to see something off the beaten path. It's usually nice to be among regular people, instead of mostly tourists.

I'd asked Simon if he wanted to go with me to Riva Reno, an acclaimed gelateria in a distant part of town, but he opted for more soccer. So, I set off on the tram, and then on foot, to see a new corner of Milan.

Seeking out the best gelato in Milan is kind of ridiculous, because everywhere we tried had terrific gelato flavors and textures. I was also looking for a good neighborhood for us to hang out in that night for the soccer match, so I figured it would be a productive and potentially transcendent excursion. The pictures on the website looked awesome, anyway:



After about 20 minutes on foot in the hot afternoon sun, I was relieved to find Riva Reno. It was popular, as predicted by the internet, and I watched for a while as Italians ordered cone after cone of gelato. I dithered and finally chose two kinds, especially curious about one the flavor of balsamic vinegar and basil.

Now, my Italian is pretty weak, but generally I got by at gelaterias with a few key words: coppa (cup), piccolo (little), and grazie (thank you). The lady at Riva Reno seemed peeved as I ordered, but I proceeded, paid, and then was tapped gently on the shoulder. The lady behind me pointed: the "balsamic" part of my ice cream was a drizzle of balsamic vinegar, and I had dropped a tiny bit on my map, and an even tinier smudge landed on the counter.

Now, if you know me very well, you know that this spill is a minor inconvenience at best in the context of my life. I regularly spilled entire milk cartons in my lap at the school lunch table, I dropped an entire cake into my refrigerator (breaking a glass shelf), and I once tipped an entire mug of beer into my friend Scott's lap. Spilling is a common thing for me to do, and I'm pretty good about shrugging, cleaning it up, and moving on.

Italians apparently do not have an equivalent expression for "no use crying over spilled milk." The sales clerk completely freaked out at me. With one swipe of her napkin she cleaned up the mess, and for the next 90 seconds, she berated me in enraged Italian. I put my head down and scurried out of the shop.

I don't know if it was the embarrassment or the flavors I chose, but the gelato did not live up to the hype. I threw most of it away and took the train back to Peck, the best deli in town, and treated myself to a sure thing, their perfect, refreshing pear gelato. Mmm. Nerves settled, I bought another coppa for Simon and hurried back to our hotel before it melted.