Balogna, Verona, Varenna, Ravenna

 

A view of Varenna from in front of our room

We are not in Balogna, Verona, or Ravenna, but beautiful beautiful beautiful Varenna.  Catbird had seen pictures and heard stories about this place from my physicist, who has taught here before, but she never realized how precariously this little strip of village sits.  Immediately out our back window--not far away, mind you, but in spitting distance--the Alps rise almost straight up, we are that close to the border to Switzerland.  Out the front window, a 20 foot stretch of garden and then the lake, Lago de Como, with Bellagio and Mellagio and San Giovanni blinking on the far coast.

 

Villa Monestero as seen from the lake

We are housed in the Villa Monestero, but the entire town wedges between the shore and the mountain, a strip only slightly wider than a football field at its widest.  There are pedestrian walkways, and a ferry dock and a lido, but only one driving street in this town with at least a dozen hotels, and 6 public parking places.  None of the hotels have any parking of their own, either.  So not far from us, machines cahk cahk cahk cahk cahk all day long, chipping away bits of mountain to try to create sufficient space for a small parking garage.  Clearing the space is a 5 year project and we are grateful we are not any closer.

One of the two machines that chip away at the mountain

Funny thing, Catbird likes the sound of it (except when we have to walk directly past it--then we wear earplugs to protect what hearing we have left).  The sound reminds Catbird that none of these villas are here by magic or nature, but by hard work of folks who disturbed the peace in their own way, clearing, excavating, hauling and hammering.   We are always interacting with our environment, disturbing habitat, disturbing each other, and care should always be taken.

 

Evening view across the lake

When pressed on this issue by another FPS, as we sat outside listening, Catbird realized that the sound of machinery is also the voice of employment.  People have jobs, good work to do.  And what did your father do? asked the FPS when the conversation took another turn.  Oh, he was a construction worker.

 

From our morning walk, a view to Lierna, town to the south of Varenna

Ah.  Perhaps Catbird brings a little personal bias into these perceptions?

How We Got Here from There

Saturday morning, on the 6:53 a.m. train to Nice we met fellow physicist (FP) and fellow physicist's spouse (FPS) also on their way to rent a car at the Nice train station in order to drive to Bruno's restaurant.

 

Agay Cove coastline

The train station in Agay has no ticket office, so when one boards, one is supposed to find the agent on the train and purchase tickets from her/him.  We saw no ticket agent, and rode on through many stops waiting for one to appear.  When the train official did show up, rather than a 6 euro ticket fee, we each had to pay a 35 euro fine for not having a ticket.  Figure that one out.  Our French friends argued the case but were given the same Pah Non Non Non, we'd received from M. Cigarette-with-Attitude at the car rental (see previous blog).  FPS later commented that she was happy to demonstrate that we had not been treated badly the day before because we struggled with the language or were Americans, but because everyone can get shafted by bullies now and then.  And she added: we should just be glad they are not in our family.

By the time we reached Nice, we figured out we could rent one car for the four of us, rather than one for each couple.  No driving or navigating for Catbird or my physicist!  Catbird, can you say thank you to the universe? Indeed. Indeed.


And so we rented a car in Nice, FP drove us back to Agay, with Catbird and my physicist nodding in the back seat until we left the big highway for the scenic route and Catbird flushed seven shades of green motion sickness.  Catbird can't figure out why she never anticipates motion sickness will take her when--in the backseat on that crenulated ocean-front road--it was inevitable. Catbird tried very hard to weather on and almost made it all the way back to Agay before requesting an urgent pullover...


One promethazine (God bless the stuff) and 90 minutes later, through flood devastated French countryside, our caravan pulled up at idyllic Chez Bruno. 

 

Statue overlooking Chez Bruno Parking Lot

Catbird and Physicist and FPS all agreed: any ordeal to get there was worth it worth it worth it.  Chez Bruno is the total package, from pastoral setting, ancient but beautiful and well appointed family farm house, art work throughout the grounds and serving areas, and Bruno, bigger than life.  The most surprising thing for Catbird was how relaxed it all felt; this is a family restaurant with kids all around, including Bruno's grandkids and their dog happily playing in and out.

 

Notice Bruno's hand is as big as my physicist's head

Two things made the day even better: 1) the weather was perfect with many sweet floral scents from the garden settling around us as we ate on the patio. 2) One of our group had been friends with Bruno since they were a poor village kids together.  Now they talk about Bruno's Maserati and Alain's Porsche and slap each other on the back as they tell jokes and tales--most of which Catbird and my physicist missed because only occasionally did someone translate the conversation into English.

We were given a tour of the kitchen, followed by champagne toasts (Catbird and my physicist faked drinking) and truffle bruschetta and Bruno presented us each with a truffle to take home.  Alas, we doubt ours will survive the trip though we are determined to try.

 

Friends translate Bruno's joke to us.  

Notice the truffles on the table.

It was fun, and did Catbird mention the food?  Excellent! Every dish was truffles: truffles in pastry with sauce (it was all any of us could do to keep from licking the plate), truffles with potato--Bruno's signature dish, and truffles with langostino.  Catbird was glad her appetite returned in time for this meal.

 

Statue on Chez Bruno patio

However, promethazine combined with the rich food and incomprehensible conversation had Catbird nodding.  My physicist suggested a walk between courses and Catbird used her camera as an excuse to prowl the grounds.   This added another beautiful element to the day, and also helped in the consciousness category.

 

Truffles with langostino

Catbird made it back to her chair in time for pre-dessert and then dessert (yes both were served) .  They were the only dishes without truffles but it didn't harm their flavor a bit.

Five hours after arriving, we finally said our goodbyes.  Catbird's only wish to improve on the day: to click her heels together three times and be transported immediately into her pajamas and bed.  Maybe FPs (whom Chez Bruno continually referred to as the savants) will work on that.  

You Can't Get There from Here: Part II

An Admonition:
Dickheads thrive world over, even in places Catbird calls home, like Texas and Indiana.  (Catbird hates to think how many folks must judge those states in terms of some of the politicians who've flourished there.)   There are also amazingly nice people everywhere, too, and when we travel we absolutely depend on them.  So Catbird begs you, please, not to generalize an entire population based on M. Cigarette-with-Attitude described below.  Merci.


***

Catbird and Physicist were invited to a "very special dinner" Saturday afternoon, at a truffle restaurant located somewhere in the French countryside.  Bruno's: www.restaurantbruno.com  

We'd need to rent a car because the trains don't go there, and while a caravan was planned from Agay, the cars going were already full.   After her last car rental experience, Catbird groaned, but as she has commented before, many of the things Catbird wants to experience require venturing beyond her comfort zone, so...

So. After 5 days of trying to rent a car on our own via the internet, we got our dear Franco-American friend LT to use her handy-dandy European cell phone and her native French language skills to secure a car from Frejus (about 15 Km away) which, for an additional 15 Euros, would be delivered to us Friday afternoon.  The driver would take us back to Frejus to their office where we'd complete the paperwork and credit card transactions, then we'd have the car and there would be no problem returning it on Saturday.  Easy-peasy, right?

Hah.  The driver arrived right on time, but spoke not one word of English and smoked constantly on the drive back to Frejus. (They were advertised as being bilingual, but if the first language was French, the second was Attitude.)  And when we arrived at the smelly, smelly shop (Remember the scummy gray mop bucket water from elementary school?) our credit cards were rejected.  All of them.


Duh-du-Duuuuuuhn.

Now Catbird has had this experience before.  Sometimes the credit card companies get antsy about out-of-town purchases, let alone out-of-continent, and they freeze the account until called and given the birth weight of Catbird's firstborn child and other such highly personal security information.  But M. Cigarette-with-Attitude would not let us use his phone, not for a local call, not for a collect call, not to call a taxi.
Non. Puff Puff Puff.

Could he direct us to a phone booth?  
Pah! Puff Puff Puff.

Could he take us back to our hotel?  Ah, that he would do for a mere 30 Euros.  We nodded, desperate, and Catbird forked up a 20 and my Physicist forked up another 20.  
Non.

We did not understand and tried again. Non.  

Finally we got it: we didn't have correct change.  No correct change, no ride back to Agay.  
Non. Puff Puff Puff.
 

So, in a strange French town, we headed out to the street, where we encountered several people who helped us get a telephone card and find a phone booth.  We finally mastered the international phone calling system, contacted credit card companies, and ransomed our accounts with the appropriate double secret passwords and handshakes.
We returned tout de suite to M. Cigarette-with-Attitude's smelly car rental office with our newly revived and fully functional credit cards, still hopeful to rent the car.  But, voila: he refused to even look at them.   

Pah! Puff Puff Puff.  Non!
Non! Non! Non!

Dickhead is not a foreign language to Catbird and with a few gestures of our own, we shook the dust of that place off our shoes, defeated by rental car agencies once again.


More nice people on the street helped us find a friendly taxi driver and we made it back to Agay in time for our dinner date with Parisian friends we never see often enough.  Especially after the frenetic atmosphere of Frejus (which has more of a Florida/Disney World feel to it), we treasured dining along the quiet beach with good friends and the almost full moon soft on the water.

Catbird was ready to skip the next day's outing to Bruno's and let our week in France end on this tranquil scene.  The universe certainly seemed to say: don't even THINK about trying to rent another car in Europe.  But my physicist gets revved up by seemingly impossible challenges (and, while it can be exhausting at times, it is one of the qualities we love about him).  He said, We'll just rent a car in Nice tomorrow morning; there were several agencies at the train station there.

Really?

Our plan is to:

1) catch a 7 a.m. train and ride 63 Km to Nice and hope to score a car, 
2) drive car the 62 Km BACK  to Agay by 10 a.m. to join the caravan,
3) follow caravan on 50+ Km drive to Bruno's in Lorgues,
4) eat a big meal, then drive 108 Km back to Nice to return the car?

Really?

Roches Rouges

Today, FPS (fellow physicist's spouse) Diane and FPS Lorna, hiked up to the end of the road, then up the trails to the top of the red rocks behind us.  We were more than two hours going up and 45 minutes coming down. 

 

View of Agay from top of Roches Roughes (Red Rocks)

The views of the cove and the town were wonderful and it was good to be in the company of such interesting women.  Catbird is always humbled in the presence of the achievements of so many FPSs.  Often Catbird is intimidated.  And some FPSs are just real pills.  But these women were just plain fascinating and Catbird looks forward to spending more time with them this week.

The switchbacks were of a reasonable grade and before we ran out of road, we passed several vacation homes with amazing landscaping. 

Up into the hills, we continued to find beautiful flora and fauna--including some plant we waded through that gave a spicy scent we could not identify.

Even if she hadn't spent the afternoon floating in the Mediterranean, Catbird would feel very lucky today, very lucky indeed.
 

Channeling Grace Kelly

Yesterday, Catbird and Fellow Physicist's-Spouse(FPS) Diane took the train into Antibes.  Diane speaks French, though she says she is rusty, and she was able to decode information about trains, attractions, etc, for the making of a plan.  And she had the good sense to bring a guidebook for this area, which Catbird did not.

Our original plan was to visit Antibes in the morning, then take the train back to Cannes to pick up a boat to the island of Saint Margarite.  However, the 9 a.m. train was canceled  (due to the tragic flooding that hit the area just west of here last week), and the next train east didn't come until 11, so we decided to skip Cannes and Saint Margarite for now.

 

On the street in Antibes

Really that was okay with Catbird.  Diane is good company and it was more leisurely to be able to spend as much time as we wanted in Antibes.  

Antibes, Antibes, Antibes...where the streets were golden in the sun, the sea blue on blue on blue on blue and the vibe was definitely one of another time and place.  One expected to see Cary Grant at any moment pop around the corner in his black loafers and white socks. 

 

Catbird on the sea wall at Antibes, 

with Grimaldi Castle (Picasso Museum) in the Background

We found a tiny organic vegetarian restaurant tucked into a corner off the main drag of old town and had a great lunch of seitan kiev, gazpacho and shepherd's pie, all under portrait-style photographs of goats.  "They are our suppliers," the server told us.  

After lunch, when we stopped to consult our maps for the Picasso Museum, a woman from Wales jumped right in to point us in the right direction.  The atmosphere is that friendly. 

 

From the terrace at the Picasso Museum; 

Germaine Richier (NOT a Picasso Piece) 

Puckish Picasso has a good home in the Grimaldi Castle overlooking the harbor at Antibes.   There is quite a history of his atelier in the castle and a photo-documentary of much of his work as it happened.  And, of course, his works that are there now are great fun.  We especially enjoyed figuring out some of the titles of the paintings.  With Picasso, it helps to have some clues.

The museum has recently been renovated, and they seem to have maintained an excellent balance between Grimaldi history and Picasso art.  Catbird loved it.

There will be no train travel tomorrow, and no museums open.  The French government workers are staging a 24 hour strike in protest to the proposed change in retirement age--from 60 to 62. 

 

Picasso plaque on the sea wall

Dang, looks like Catbird will have to spend another day on the beach here in Agay, reading and relaxing.





 

Lost and Found in a Border Town

 

Looking back at Agay from down the coast

We didn't know quite what to expect of Agay.   The train ride along the coast showed us Monaco, Cannes, and Antibes:  beachfront cities all under rainy dismal skies, with the Mediterranean a dark battleship gray.  Our arrival in Agay, to a thin strip of concrete (no station, no shelter, no taxi) did not hold promise.

Monday, though, the sun shone and Catbird set out exploring.  Our room looks down from a steep red rock hillside to Agay Cove where a scattering of sailboats and yachts tilt in the waves, so it was easy to get the lay of the land.  In the sunlight one sees why this is called Cote d'Azure;  it is a different sea altogether with the beautiful Mediterranean sun coaxing out all those shades of blue. 

Our laundry was held hostage by a blown circuit breaker that left the hotel's front-loading washers full of water and locked closed. Language barriers made it difficult for us to know when maintenance would arrive to broker a release (maybe Monday?  maybe Tuesday?), so Catbird thought it prudent to look for a few supplemental clothing items. 

Agay had only a few beachwear shops, so Catbird hiked on to the next village, enjoying the scenery very much even if she didn't find what she needed in clothes.   And the breeze off the sea and the gentle sun (hard to imagine it is the same sun that broils us in Austin) kept Catbird walking long after there was any real mission.  

It was all lovely, until Catbird discovered her wallet missing. 

Alas, Catbird comes from a long line of folks who lose things in the most absurd and impossible ways.  Sister WBN once lost a pair of shoes that was wearing at the time.  Catbird's father once lost a set of car keys found decades later hanging on a nail in the attic.   

Glasses, keys, cell phones, sunglasses, hats...these are the most commonly misplaced items, and we lose them no matter how hard we try to keep track.  And, in the flush of looking-for, Catbird always hears the voice of her mother (who did NOT lose things) derisively saying something about not being able to find it with both hands...

Being experienced losers, so to speak, we know what to do.  Battling panic and that voice in her head, Catbird first returned to the hotel and completely ransacked every possible cubby, corner and bag.  Then she began to retrace her steps.

As Catbird walked, she thought about what it would mean to cancel the credit cards and bank card, replace her driver's license and insurance cards...and how another week of vacation would go down without cash or credit.   And how this would all take place from Agay without benefit of cell phone. 

Imagine a bedraggled Catbird, with skirt now torn from knee to mid thigh from climbing under a fence in the retracing of steps.  And imagine the most beautiful words in the world from a clerk in the last beachwear shop, "Ah, oui, Madame, I have your wallet."  It had fallen out in the dressing room.

The cash was still in it. Catbird wanted to kiss her.  Instead, she bought a pair of capri pants, which she wore back to the hotel, her tattered trusty travel skirt in a bag with her wallet. 

 

All Catbird can say is: Merci!

You Can't Get There from Here

CAUTION:  OK, if you already hate Catbird for the travel opportunities life has flung her way, you will either find some gratification in hearing about this really, really crappy day, or you will resent how much she doesn't appreciate the life she's been given.  Either way, consider yourself warned.  

In Catbird's defense, please remember how much fun one has driving in a strange city in one's own country, where one speaks the language.  Then imagine that experience on another continent, where one does not read the language or understand many customs, and don't forget to factor in fatigue from the previous 14 days of travel.  Now amp up the anxiety factor about 10-fold and understand why Catbird is so flayed.

Deep breath.  In our original itinerary, Catbird and Physicist planned to take trains for most of the journey, then rent a car and drive along the coast from Siena, Italy, to Nice, France.  My Physicist will attend a conference in Agay, near Nice, all this coming week.

Problem one: Despite the Euro-Unity concept, car rental cost nearly triples if one picks up the car in one country and drops it off in another.  

Solution:  Drop car off in Italy, near the border and take the train across to Nice.

Problem: Locals inform us that driving from Siena to Genova, (or Ventimiglia, the  border town) is not the romantic and pleasant drive one might dream.  They strongly counsel we make another plan.

Solution:  Follow friends' recommendation and plan to return car in Siena and take train to Nice.  A night train would be lovely...

Problem: Train from Siena to Nice takes 12 hours, requires 5 train changes and there is no night train.  Catbird's mega-suitcase is at the outer limits of her manageability with modern conveniences of ramps, lifts, and escalators.  Most European train stations channel a more gentile time and though there are ghosts of porters past, they are not corporeal.  Thus we are left to drag our bags on our own, with lots of steps, few escalators, no elevators.  (How do people with disabilities get around?)

Solution: Turn in car at some main point which would minimize number of train changes while requiring no driving into Genova or other large city.  (Clerk at car rental agency provided map of acceptable car drops, assured us car could be dropped at any hour, at any stop.  GREAT!)  

We decided to drive to San Remo, a city on the coast but small enough to access without crises and yet near enough border to minimize train ordeal.  Through Expedia, we booked a hotel for Saturday night, with plan to take a Sunday morning train from San Remo into Nice.

Problem: How do we get to the car drop office in San Remo?

Solution: Send an email and ask for directions.

Problem: Saturday morning email from AutoEurope says that car must be turned in at San Remo before noon Saturday or wait until Monday.  No drop box; car drop not open on Sunday, and no possible way Catbird and Physicist can get there by noon.  And we are already on our way.

Solution: Try to find phone or email connection to rental agency to see if special arrangements can be made or...

Listen, this list goes on and on and on.  

Just visualize Catbird standing at a payphone in the rain in the median strip of a small town, crying in frustration because the phone won't take coins or credit card, no one nearby sells phone cards, and the only toll free number for the agency is staffed by very rude folks who refuse to hear the problem or offer assistance.  And who hang up on Catbird three times.

Imagine driving on busy highway in pouring rain, unable to decode signs, missing exits, angering other drivers with our lack of speed and fumbling moves.  All the while, trying to figure out what to do next.

We finally surrendered any hope of making it easy.  Since airports always have car rental agencies and directions to airports are usually marked from the highway, we decided to drive to the Genova airport, turn the car in, take a taxi to the nearest train station and go from there.

And so, we ended up in Genova, where we definitely did NOT want to drive.  The train to San Remo, a distance of around 50 miles, took three hours and made 21 stops (we counted--21!), but fortunately, no changes.  It was a good time to decompress from the driving.

Today we have hours of train ahead, with at least three changes, schlepping our bags up and down steps in hopes we don't miss the next train--or get on the wrong one.  But we settled for the night, ate dinner, bathed and, though Catbird still feels defeated, we have begun to regroup.  

Trying to focus on the positive: In the middle of the 19th century, San Remo was the garden spot of the Italian Riviera, a frequent haunt of Empress Alexandra, the mother of Nicholas II, the last czar of Russia.  We are at the Alexander hotel and glimpses of former glory are evident: high ceilings, imposing facade, parquet floors.  We are surrounded by many such dowager hotels and we are told there is a Russian Orthodox Church nearby.  The guidebooks describe the casinos and slot machines that seem to constitute the current tourist-based economy.  The beaches, as we saw them in the rain from the train, were narrow strips of gravel cut by highway and train track; we wonder what they were like in their former glory.

Between the rain and our schedule, we don't have time to explore.  We have a morning train to catch (with three tight train changes) in order to get to Nice by afternoon.  Once we get to Nice, we have to figure out how to get to Agay.

 

As sister MJ says: today will either be better or worse.

Why We Drove the Scenic Route Instead of the AutoStrada, from Firenze to Siena: A Short Essay with Photos

Sure the roads were narrow steep and curvy, but, oh, yeah, it was that beautiful. All that and a side of fries, even with storms rolling in and out and about us.  Lucky Catbird and Physicist, we stopped for lunch just before the big deluge.     

The woman to my Physicist's right turned out to be from Seattle and is doing research for the wine-tasting tours she hosts. She was quite amazed that we just happened to drop in to Macelleria Cecchini because, she said, Anthony Bourdain of the cable food show No Reservations had recently featured this restaurant and folks have been flocking to it since.   My Physicist says we were probably the only people in there who didn't plan all morning to have lunch at Macelleria Cecchini today. 

We had figured out pretty quickly that this was a steak house; what our table-mate from Seattle told us was that the butchery was downstairs (we had guessed it was the wine cellar) and Bourdain called the butcher the best in all Italy. 

Catbird must give our server credit: he did not weep, nor even blink, when Catbird asked what he could serve a vegetarian.   Even as he hustled to re-seat those folks who had been outside--before they got dumped on by the impending rain--he was all grace and good humor.

Besides having a great time, we discovered the dinner-bell in the shape of Texas that the chef uses as part of his schtick at evening meals, and WE HAD WONDERFUL FOOD.  My Physicist actually said "this could make me reconsider eating more beef," and the vegetarian meal with crudites was enough to make one cry.  Really, crudites! Who knew?  

Not only were the meal and atmosphere WONDERFUL, the food was also far less expensive than the not so good (read: execrable) meals we have been served at many other far busier eateries.  We seem to be on a trend toward culinary excellence and we will take it. 

 

Except for a table for 4 just out of camera range, this is the entire dining room.  

The kitchen is directly behind Catbird and the bathrooms are behind the red and blue funky doors. 

Eye of the Beholder

There are so many things to see and do in Florence it is almost impossible to begin.  From our hotel terrace we can see the Arne River and the Ponte Vecchio.  Just outside our bedroom window is the San Stefano Church where we attended a concert one evening, and where each morning swifts circle between the tall buildings that make up the cul de sac.  When we step out our door, we encounter excellent musicians, art students reproducing Botticelli and DaVinci classics in chalk on the sidewalk, incomprehensible street theatre, vendors of every stripe and color, a gelato stand about every 50 feet or so, masses of tourists and swarms of tour groups wearing matching hats and following the ugly umbrella of their guide.  We are less than a block from the Uffizi Gallery, the Palazzo Vecchio, the Galileo Museum, countless churches with enormous domes (there seems to have been a competition for size back in the day), several piazzas and that bad-ass replica of David that stands where the original stood before it was removed to safer domain in the Accademia.

We can walk from attraction to attraction, stop for a rest (or a bath, or a conference call) back at our hotel room, and go again.  And, after Venice, it seems incredibly easy to find our way around.

Still, if you know Catbird and Physicist, you know we have a history of losing one another.  There are many folks with whom Catbird can shop or visit Museums and never get seriously separated.  Without benefit of cell phone or pre-planning, we can split up and reunite many times over an afternoon.  My Physicist is not one of those folks.

On our honeymoon in England, way back in the day, Catbird waited for two hours at the prearranged meeting point, then frantically executed a floor by floor search of Harrod's department store, describing her Physicist to the Bobby on each floor.  In high school Catbird had read a short story about a man being killed on his honeymoon while his bride waited at the hotel, and that tragic story played with increasing intensity through Catbird's head for those several hours until the great purge of customers as the store closed generated our reunion.

Ten years later, Catbird cannot count the times we've lost one another.  When we are thinking, we hang onto each other and confirm very specific plans for rejoining if we plan to part for even a moment.  However.  

Catbird and Physicist are equally likely to become distracted by shiny objects, though Catbird gravitates toward shoes and purses, while Physicist leans toward cars and other mechanical equipment.  (On Safari, in Tanzania, while scanning lion prides, Physicist said "Look:  five, six, seven heads!"  Catbird looked for the pride of 7 lions, but--no--Physicist had identified a big Landrover with seven people inside...)  

One evening in Firenze, as we returned to our hotel after dinner, Catbird crossed over to the Ponte Vecchio to watch the sunset, and suddenly noticed her Physicist not in attendance.  Scanning, Catbird spotted him half a block down, fixed on a shop window.  Catbird watched from a distance, thinking he would notice her absence, see her and catch up.  After several minutes, he did look up and notice Catbird missing. Though he methodically looked left and right, he did not see her and did not hear when she whistled, so Catbird retraced her steps.

What was he looking at, you might ask?  A Botticelli print?  Venetian Glass?  Marble statues of angels, saints or random Medicci?  Oh no.  Maybe even hydraulic lifts moving artwork around?    Nuh-uh.  Our physicist was looking at the exchange rates for Korean currency in the window of the bank. Fascinating.

Scenes from Venice

All God's Children Gotta Shoes

In Milan Catbird watched a chubby big-haired blond in 5-inch CMFM shoes and tight white Capri pants turn her ankle on a low curb and fall hard to her knees.  Her sunglasses flew across the piazza and the paving stones shook.  As her sig-oth helped her up, she gamely told him she was fine, and she thanked me for fetching her specs.  But Catbird is pretty sure there will be long-term bruising and pain.  Napoleon said an army travels on its stomach, but Catbird knows firsthand they would not have made it far in CMFM shoes of any king: platforms, stilettos, or strappy little shiny sandals.

Or even the tennis shoes Catbird bought specifically to wear on this trip.  Ah, well, they are 1960 converse-style blue plaid Running Dogs and were very cute; they will be popular when tossed into the donation bin back in Our Fair City.  Too bad a few hours of wear made rough all those poorly cobbled seams and grommets and made large the tiny fit problems not evident in a quick try-on at Famous Footwear.

The amount of walking done on a trip like this requires good shoes.  Even Catbird's trusty Naot sandals, well broken in, begin to confine after a few miles.  Amazingly, it is the impulse purchase (vive le successful impulse buy!) of a pair of leather Merrill flip-flops that have proved the most comfortable.  No protection against the dropped suitcase or the errant tourist step, but worth it for the opportunity to let the dogs breathe.

In Firenze there is a style of women's shoe that can only be described as part sandal, part boot.  From sole to across the top of the foot the design is all sandal (criss-crossed straps), then at the ankle and sometimes reaching as high as mid-calf is a solid suede or leather sleeve that sags down over the heel like a basset jowl.  Catbird cannot comment on their comfort or their value as CMFM shoes, but if one wants folks on the street to turn their heads and do a Scooby-Doo "huh-uh?" these seem to be effective.

As we wander through the piazzas and alleyways, Catbird wonders at the shoes on parade.  She bets dollars to donuts those women in CMFM shoes suffer.  Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of their lives...Meanwhile, as for Catbird, she's wearing sensible shoes, and soaking her feet in the bidet every chance she gets.