Adventures in Rome

I Heard All Roads Lead to Rome. Where’s My DeLorean?

By Eric Vazquez

Photo by Eric Vasquez

Pablo Picasso explored time as a dimension during his Cubist years, painting images of singular objects but showing the subject at different times on one canvas. Albert Einstein rejected the linear idea of time the way most people see it, and accepted the theory of a ‘block universe’ where there was no distinct distance between past, present, and future.

While I was walking in Rome, both of these innovative thinkers were on my mind. I think they must have visited these ruins, and I also think they must have pondered the space-time continuum the way I did while retracing their steps. In Rome, the past is the present and vice versa. It’s easy to get lost in time here.

Photo by Eric Vasquez

I feel as though a military marching procession with Julius Caesar in the lead is sneaking up behind me. Or maybe that’s just the vibrations of a double decker tour bus. It certainly wouldn’t be a subway system, every layer of earth dug up here reveals more remnants from ancient civilizations. Imagine a train crashing through all of that underground priceless history? There would be outrage!

Photo by Eric Vasquez

Rome really is the most interactive history lesson one could receive. The preservation of ancient structures whose shade comforts millions of tourists daily, makes this place feel like a multilingual Western-Civ classroom.

Since we are talking about Rome and not necessarily the Vatican, (which is another country entirely despite its proximity), I’ll spare any readers my disappointments of how God is for sale inside the Vatican walls. Outside those walls however, most of Rome’s historic attractions, including the ruins, Trevi Fountain, exterior of the Colosseum, Piazza Navona, Pantheon, etc., are all free to see. Which is what most museums charge, with the occasional suggested donation.

I don’t want my views on Rome to read like a review, but I guess I can’t help it. Like a museum there is more to see here than to do here. It’s beautiful. It’s a city dedicated to a history that is in a constant state of discovery. If ancient history is your thing, it’s a must. I’m glad I saw it once.

My Roman Holiday
by Stephanie Alvarez

Photo by Stephanie Alvarez

Rome is a beautiful city with history everywhere you look. I feel that Rome being referred to as an ‘open air museum’ is an accurate statement. The amount of history that surrounds you can match or even exceed what most museums offer. There are historical statues and ruins everywhere you go. Even while you’re walking around exploring, you’re walking on layers  of civilizations buried right beneath your feet. There are excavations that are still being conducted to this day unearthing more and more ruins from previous cities built. During a walking tour of the city our guide stopped us by a church with a view of a specific structure. She then showed us a photo from the movie Roman Holiday.

 In the picture we can see the same piece of ruins but the photo has a large road that for the most part no longer exists.We were on the remaining portion of road that was left. The rest of the street was removed during an excavation. I found this little nugget of information so interesting. My favorite moment in Rome was when I threw a coin into the Trevi Fountain. The fountain was gorgeous and although it was crowded with other tourists, I was able feel in tune with the city and myself as I tossed the coin in. The combination of beauty and historical significance in Rome can be overwhelming but it’s worth the trip. There is no better place where you can learn by just taking a walk outside.

                                          

Walking through Florence

Florence: Home to Dante, Giotto, and Real Italian Leather

By Eric Vazquez

I don’t eat much meat these days. It’s not a political statement, and I’m not trying to save all the furry critters. I’ve just seen one too many Netflix documentaries. So our trip to the ‘Leonardo’ leather store in Florence, sparked zero guilt or remorse for the cattle whose dried and stretched hides made Florentine retail smell so wonderful.

I love to learn. In fact, since I’m a U.S. citizen and America is not a Scandinavian country, I pay to learn. So when I walk in a store and the employees can give me a short enthusiastic lesson about a product’s origins and the manufacturing process, I’m more likely to unlace my imaginary boxing gloves so my hands fit when I try to reach into my pockets.

One of the ‘Leonardo’ leather makers stood on a raised platform. Surrounded by tools that looked like they belonged in the Renaissance wing of the Yale Art Gallery, he took 10 minutes off from his work to demonstrate the methods of leather designing that ‘Leonardo’ has used since their inception. He gave us a history lesson too...

Florence in the Renaissance was one of the richest cities in Europe, and the Medicis were one of its richest and most powerful families. Katarina de Medici, before moving to Paris to marry Henry II making her Queen of France, was given a box comprised entirely of leather as a gift. The box was virtually indestructible and yet contained no hinges, zippers, glue, wood, or metals, to keep its shape. It had an insignia of a flower symbolizing the beauty of Florence, while its singular sturdiness represented the power of Florence. It was just Italian leather, and yet it sent a powerful message to France: ‘We are pretty, but we are strong.’

Wet cowhide can take the shape of anything, and natural dyes and paraffin wax are added to make the surface shine. The only thing that the ‘Leonardo’ company has changed from the original leather making process of the Renaissance Era, is the addition of gold leaf decoration. Initially there was so much waste of gold, but over time they have invented ways to minimize waste. With heat and pressure they can imprint any gold designs imaginable. The actual factory lays now between Pisa and Florence, because of the noise that is made during production.

The most valuable lesson I learned as a consumer in Florence, was how to recognize genuine leather. It’s not by the smell. This comes from the combination of treatments of dyes and wax. Some say you can scratch leather to make sure it’s real… hmm, try doing that in a store to every leather looking product and you might get arrested. The flame test? A vendor can pull out a lighter and quickly pass it back and forth over their product and say, “See it doesn’t burn, that means it’s not plastic or polyester.” They can pass that same flame quickly under their hand and it won’t burn, however, we know that skin burns. The suede is the proof. Suede on the back of the leather surface is unmistakable, however, lining will hide that. So unfortunately the only way to know for sure, is to look for the tag that says, “100% Italian Leather” and take it at face value. Each piece of leather is unique, so seeing a flaw or inconsistencies from one leather jacket  to another on the same rack, tells you they are most likely real.

It’s this kind of authenticity that seems to be a common staple in Florence. Keeping touch with tradition is not always the easiest or cheapest way of doing business, yet around every corner in Florence there is a family owned shop selling something they’ve sold for years, and they all seemingly refuse to compromise. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to shop here and contribute to the Florentine economy. I feel like what I’m buying took someone’s lifetime to master, and in turn the product could last me mine.  

*********************************************************************************

Florence: a magical city

By Guerlita Alphonse

Florence is the city of Michelangelo, Leonardo Da Vinci, Dante, and Machiavelli. It was in this city that they learned how to create, paint, and sculpt statutes. There are many magnificent buildings in Florence. Everywhere you turn, you have the opportunity to admire amazing church structures and fountains. An example of one such structure is the dome of the cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore in the plaza of the Duomo. It was built by the 14th century architect named Filippo Brunelleschi. He named the building Maria di Fiore in honor of the angel who announced to the virgin Mary that she would give birth to a child. The word Fiore or Flower  related to Jesus growing inside of her. Upon its completion, Filippo Brunelleschi requested that his remains be buried at the cathedral. As we walked through the city, we saw the house where Michelangelo was born. Some claim that he died in Rome painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and that his remains are at the Vatican. However, we learned that his nephew Leonard had ordered his remains to be shipped secretly back to Florence to be close to his family. As we continued on our walking tour we learned many fun facts about the city; however, none was more surprising than discovering the origins of the modern day ambulance service. Across from the cathedral of Santa Maria, is the home of the 1st ambulance community service. Paintings adorn the building displaying a human ambulance: a good samaritan carrying an ailing stranger to medical services. It was from this tradition that the ambulances came to be.

                                                                                                          

While in Nice...

Photo by Guerlita Alphonse

Perfumes anyone?

By: Stephanie Alvarez:

I personally have never thought about how perfume is made before our trip to the factory. When we visited the Fragonard Perfume Factory I learned a lot of interesting facts about the perfume making process. I saw a map that shows what regions in the world they get different scents from. The factory has employees that have the sole job of smelling the different fragrances. These employees have to have a restrictive diet and limited work hours in order to keep their sense of smell at the highest of standards. The factory makes many fragrance products, including perfumes, lotions, soaps, etc. All of their products are handmade. During our tour we saw an employee painting a soap bar in the shape of a duck. At the end of our tour we were able to sample some of their perfumes. We got the tip to test the perfumes on our bodies instead of the test strips because the scent of the perfume can change when it comes into contact with your skin. I also learned that smelling coffee beans can cleanse your smelling palate. Before our trip to this perfume factory I would just get whatever perfume I thought smelled best without thinking about how much effort went into having this specific scent created. This trip to the Fragonard Perfume Factory opened my eyes to industry that I would have never given a second thought about before this trip.

_____________________________________________________________________

CHOOSING A PERFUME: FRENCH STYLE

By Eric Vazquez

1. Go to Macy’s
2. Smell the little piece of white cardboard that the salesperson hands you
3. Whichever one you like, you buy.

Right??? WRONG!!!! I’ll tell you how I know.

On the side of a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean Sea in the French Riviera, sits the Parfumerie Fragonard in Eze, France. Yes, yes, the view is breathtaking, but I’m glad I saved some of those breaths to truly take this place in, with my eyes closed occasionally.

Probably more of a laboratory than anything, this Fragonard location was built in 1968 and doubles as a working factory and tourist attraction.

Every year the Fragonard Company celebrates a different flower and designs perfumes, soaps, and cosmetics highlighting their choice. 2018 belongs to the verbena herb, a perennial flower that grows around Europe.

Fragonard makes it their business to seek out the best scent producing plant life, and imports from all over the world for its production line. This travel abroad trip for instance, will have landed us in Spain, France, and Italy before its conclusion, and all three nations are represented at Fragonard. Spanish oranges, Italian lemons, and native French violets are used as ingredients here at the factory. Even cedar wood, pine and magnolia, from the U.S.A. are imported here.

Now, can we tell the difference between a Spanish orange and a Florida orange? Well, actually most of us can’t tell the difference between oranges, lavender, vanilla, etc., in its purest state when the scent is faint or mixed with other scents. That’s a fact. My whole group proved it.

“Would you like to play a game?” Cristele, our tour guide asked. At 10 workstations, each with eight squares containing painted images of flowers and herbs, sat eight jars numbered 1-8. The rules are, you open the lid of a jar, each of which contains one scent, and you try to match it with the corresponding picture. I got 3 out of 8 correct. And the rest of my group didn’t do much better. Anyway, it was proof of how underdeveloped our sense of smell is. It’s simply no longer a sense that we rely on for daily survival.

There is one person however who makes a living on his or her sense of smell. The perfume industry calls this person ‘The Nose’.

Fragonard has three perfume schools in France where students wanting to be perfume makers, and critics, must attend. One in Paris, one in Versailles, and a third in Grasse. www.grasse-perfumery.com.

The schooling is extensive and some of the chosen few who will be called ‘The Nose’ study for 10 years or more. ‘The Nose’ works for only three hours per day, and cannot smoke, drink alcohol, or eat spicy food within two weeks of working a shift. Most ‘Noses’ pass up those indulgences all together. ‘The Nose’ can recognize over 2,500 scents and can pick them out individually in a fragrance. Some fragrances contain 20-50 individual scents, so this job is not an easy one, and Fragonard employs these few experts at top dollar.

Since so much work is put into one bottle of perfume, let’s do this the right way. A good bottle of perfume will keep its scent for 6 years or more, hence you may keep it longer than you keep your car. Why be careless?

The piece of white cardboard at Macy’s? Toss it. Whatever scent you think you smell after the clerk sprays it, WILL CHANGE!

White cardboard is nothing like human skin. Our skin has pH and everyone’s varies. The pH level on your skin is going to change the scent of the fragrance once it’s applied.

Proper application is also important. “Remember,1,2,3,4.” Cristele said. Four spots only, when spraying or dabbing. One behind each ear and one on each wrist.

Fragonard taught me a lot about complicated, behind the scenes process of smelling delicious. Most importantly, Cristele prompted me to realize what natural scents I already know I like, then look for them as main ingredients in colognes. I hope this helps someone out there to smell better. Happy Hunting.

________________________________________________________________

On the road

Landscapes Along the Mediterranean

By Eric Vazquez

While making our way from France to Italy, we stayed at a place that made me feel like I inhabited the mind and body of Stephen King on one of his regular workdays. Getting to the  Cuccaro Club was literally a four kilometer climb straight up into the thin air of the Alps. The outside of the hotel was a writer’s paradise, complete with a bright rainbow reflecting a far off storm and starry sky that looked like a black popcorn ceiling close enough to touch once the sun went down.

The climb was so treacherous that our bus driver had to abandon his ship for one night and jump on a shuttle with us up the mountain. It was 90 degrees at the base of the mountain, and 15 minutes later we all breathed in the cool 75 degree air near the summit.

The grounds were so remote from the rest of Italy that hotel pets roamed the property freely and doors of cars and hotel entrances stayed open all night. I could imagine Mr. King here laying on a hammock hatching some devious plot while he was awake. The inside of the hotel however, was a look inside the mind of Mr. King once he dozed off on that same hammock. It was like ‘The Shining’ meets ‘Secret Window’, with enough charm and delicious food to make me want to stay in the oversized nightmare dollhouse for another night.

Our journey through Spain, France, and Italy, was very much like a small stretch of that cliffside road up the mountain. Picture the road hanging off the mountain. The flat rock rising straight up into the sky on the left, and the steep drop overlooking the depths below on the right. Now, imagine walking down the middle of that same road, as an ant. No danger of falling off to the right, and no eagerness to challenge the rock walls to the left. THAT is exactly what our tour of Europe was like from our seats on the busses and bullet train.

From Barcelona to Rome, we essentially followed a seaside route overlooking the Mediterranean to our right, and looking up to the Pyrenees in Spain, and Alps in France and Italy to our left.

In the middle of those two contrasting levels of Earth, was where most of the life was happening. Farmlands and coastal towns seemed to have enough climatic variation between the foothills of the mountain ranges and beaches of the Mediterranean, to sustain many agricultural ventures. Vineyards, olive groves, herds of sheep, dry lands, green lands, tall pines and palm trees were seen from our windows and smartphone camera displays.

The landscape we encountered on this route had everything: Beaches on the right that kept tourists armed like gunslingers with sunblock spray cans; Mountains on the left that boasted some visible snowcaps; and even more in between.

Barcelona

Spanish Architecture and its Influence on Barcelona

By Eric Vazquez

I had a seafood soup at a deli/bar not far from where La Rambla, a popular street in Barcelona, stops abruptly, so as not to send wine soaked tourists into the bay. A statue of Christopher Columbus stands high and points aggressively toward the sea. (His objective, I believe, is to yell to visitors that take part in the fruit of the vine, “Hey, American! The bar hop ends here! One more careless step and you’ll be swimming in the Mediterranean!”)

The soup was a mix of ingredients that I have never seen thrown together, but tasted like they were made for eachother. Fish and crustaceans from the sea, Iberican ham from the inlands, cheese and herbs from somewhere in the middle, and maybe even an egg or two. The over crowded broth was probably a mix of regional cuisines and family recipes, all thrown into one cauldron. Then, there it was; beautiful, strange, and delicious.

That’s Barcelona from the view of a non cushioned chair in a small restaurant. Lots of influence in a small bowl. The birdseye view of the cityscape and its architecture is quite similar, in metaphorical terms.

In Barcelona, the blocky, heavy Romanesque structures with influence from the 1100s might be right around the corner from an airy and thin gothic style cathedral. Facades containing the finely tuned detail of Dali, to the hidden in plain sight abstraction of Miro, blend together like one long lick from a double stacked vanilla and chocolate gelato cone. It’s all shocking to the senses, but since the puzzle edges fit so perfectly, you just accept it.

Artists and architects spanning centuries have made their marks and it appears that the city is grand enough to fit all of the contrasting influence comfortably, and humble enough to honor them individually.

The sun is a big deal in Spain, hence the mid-day siestas. Our tour guide Nicolas says 2pm-5pm is “the hours of the crazies”, meaning anyone who is actively choosing to be outside in that heat, must be nuts. Now in Manhattan, this wouldn’t be a problem. The buildings are so tall that the sun rarely reaches the pavement. Maybe that’s why the wide cobblestone streets have stood the test of time here, they receive the scorching sun better than tar does.

Since the streets are wide and most of the beige buildings, (regardless of what artistic era and mind they originated from), don’t stand much taller than six stories, Barcelona appears to reflect the sun like a mirror. However, without taking away Barcelona’s shine by casting a long dark shade, one artist broke the six-story glass ceiling along with architectural standards and rules, by simply making up his own.

It’s not difficult to speak glowingly about Barcelonian architecture without mentioning Antoni Gaudi; it’s freaking impossible! I was raised Roman Catholic, but have lapsed in my practice and faith as logic always seems to beat me with a stick whenever I think about the heavens. With that said, I can truthfully say that I felt the brush of a divine shoulder moving briskly past, as I walked at a zombie’s pace through several of Gaudi’s creations. His spirit, is in Barcelona. It’s invisible and yet tangible. If there is a God, He was on a first name basis with Gaudi.

Picture an architect without a ruler or protractor. It’s like a chef without… food. Gaudi built structures all over Barcelona, and in many cases did so without the conventional, or maybe even necessary, use of straight lines and right angles. His innovation in shape design and weight-bearing principals, baffled builders and architects.

Inside La Sagrada Familia

La Sagrada Familia is probably his most notable work. Unlike Michelangelo’s ‘David’ and DaVinci’s ‘Mona Lisa’, Gaudi’s masterpiece is incomplete. His imposing church is still under construction and is estimated to be finished in the year 2026 marking the 100th anniversary of his death. The builders are using Gaudi’s old sketches and plans along with contributions from other notable architects.  

Being way ahead of his time, one can speculate that those of his peers who actually followed the time tested rules, may have secretly or openly wished for Gaudi’s creations to cave in or topple over. Instead, they have stood as a symbol of Barcelona’s credence to accept cultural influence from every direction, without knocking down the long-standing residents that have stood for centuries.

Crossing Borders

No Family Separation at the Borders? 

What Planet is This?

By Eric Vazquez

Photo by Guerlita Alphonse

In my opinion, 11 tourists on a bus that seats 40, is the very definition of 1st Class travel. Legs of all shapes and length shot out here and there and were suspended mid air, perpendicular to the aisle. Two long days in the Barcelona heat had depleted us. All of our digital energy bar displays were blinking red.  

The vibration of thick rubber on heavy asphalt tugged down on my eyelids and I missed most of the last few miles of Spain. Just before we crossed into France, however, Nicolas, our tour guide, woke us up.

Then… as we approached border patrol, we were all prompted to get off the bus, and told to leave our belongings onboard. Nicolas whispered softly to each of us that he needed us to stay calm and not make sudden movements in the presence of the armed military personnel. Two soldiers boarded the bus and from the straight line we stood in, we could hear our personal items being thrown about and emptied onto the floor of the bus. While still lined up and afraid to protest, two other officers took turns invading our personal space, and questioned us about our true intentions of crossing from Spain to France. Then we were brought to private cabins in the quarters of the small military outpost, and strip searched. The soldiers were nice enough to let us choose between vinyl and latex, in consideration of any allergies.

LOL!! Yeah… nothing in that previous paragraph is true. We crossed into France from Spain without even slowing down. No toll booth, no change in scenery. I don’t even think I saw the France version of the  “Welcome to…” sign that I am use to seeing when driving from CT to Massachusetts or New York. If Nicholas hadn’t woken us up to tell us that we were crossing into another country, most of us, even those who were awake, would not have noticed.

No wall, no snipers, no family destruction through separation of child and mother, under the guise of making a country great again. The European Union seems to have less policies and practices on border crossings than the U.S. has state to state.

The only visible difference was the rapid materialization of solar panels. Suddenly they were everywhere. Evidently Spain’s environmental strategies do not include harnessing the abundance of Mediterranean sun. France appears to have a higher grade in that department, for now.

Other than that, crossing from Spain into France injected about as much excitement into our journey as crossing from Bridgeport to Stratford would. And bonus... there was no random unpredictable I-95 traffic to curse about.
*********************************************************************

Friendlier Crossings? I think so!

By Guerlita Alphonse

 

Border crossings in Europe are totally different from those in the USA in many ways. During our travels we crossed 5 different borders, most of which were by land. As we moved around by bus, not once were we ever questioned by a security guards nor did come onboard for question about the trip, or any other reason etc. At most stops, we did not have to show our documentation individually. Our wonderful driver was given copies of our information by our professor, which he would show without the need of any officers boarding the bus or asking us to walk out of the bus. If there was a fee for crossing, our driver handled it. The crossings themselves were all pretty uneventful. 

In comparison, on a trip from Canada to USA my experience was very different. During that trip, I also traveled with a group ,and the border officer made sure to speak to each of us asking a variety of questions such as: How long had we been in Canada? Why were we there? etc. They checked under the minivan with some type of lens even though the vehicle had American plates and all its' papers were registered correctly.

When we travel interstate in USA, we have to pay toll every time, we enter in a new city. Sometime we can get follow by police car for a few minutes, because we have a different plate state.

Given these experiences, I would say European borders are more welcoming of visitors than those in the USA.

            

Monaco

Monaco: the ‘Jewel’ of the Mediterranean. 

(I mean the huge, obscene, Louis XIV style Jewel)

By Eric Vazquez

MONACO!! It’s no wonder that this country shares its first three letters with the English word, ‘money’. Location, location, location. This country, the second smallest in the world next to the Vatican, is surrounded by France at its right, left, and rear. Its mountainside front, is a luxurious balcony view of the Mediterranean Sea.

Turn on the news today and you’ll see the middle school bickering going on between China and Trump as they wage a tariff war against each other. They’re possibly destroying American heartland businesses by taxing imports and exports in an attempt to ‘1 up’ each other. After spending one afternoon in Monaco, it’s hard to think this country will ever share this tariff problem with us.

Monaco doesn’t make anything, export anything, or grow anything. Correction...money. That’s the only thing that grows on trees here, and those trees are imported and planted here daily. Seems as though money from all over the world is magnetically drawn to this place, and that’s how this tiny country operates.

I can’t know for sure, but I don’t believe the 3-bedroom yachts parked in the bay, belong to the upper class residents we may see when driving through pretty Fairfield and Trumbull neighborhoods. We’re talking Vanderbilt and Rockefeller money here. In fact it wouldn’t surprise me if the fee for parking one of these behemoth sea monsters in a tiny Monaco bay, is more per month than retail price of the yacht itself. That’s the kind of exclusivity this member’s only country boasts.

There is a royal family here, anyone who knows the story of American actress Grace Kelly is aware of this. By just walking through the main streets though, I assume that everyone who lives here is royalty of some kind. A few who transplanted and called Monaco home include: Bjorn Borg (Tennis Royalty), the late Roger Moore (James Bond: 007 Royalty), Bono of U2 (Rock and Roll Royalty), and Ringo Starr (Music Royalty Period).

Middle class tourism certainly plays its role here, so I didn’t have to be related to Scrooge McDuck to get a good meal or buy some souvenirs. However, I knew that the row of large silver ice buckets filled with unopened Louis Roederer Cristal bottles, and left unattended on the dock near the yachts, were not a welcoming present to me. For me, Monaco may as well be called Never-Never Land.