when in rome

Aman and I had only two nights to spend in the Eternal City, which is not a very long time for a historically, politically and culturally significant place such as Rome.  We cut it short because, like Paris, and unlike Florence, Rome is a vast city and we knew that we would not be able to tour it for days with me on walking sticks.  It just did not make sense to stay there for very long.  At the same time, it was not possible to take a direct train from Florence to our next destination on the Amalfi coast, Salerno… as they say, all roads were leading to Rome.  And, we figured that if we had no choice but to travel through Rome, why not stop briefly for a night or two so that Aman could at least see the Colosseum.  (I had seen it once before; it is a pretty awesome sight.)

Despite the short duration of our stay, it was full of unexpected and fun surprises.  It all started on the very first night when Aman went to watch the UEFA Euro 2012 final match, Italy vs. Spain, at a large outdoor space that had been set up to broadcast the match live.  Thousands and thousands of people turned out for the big event.  Sadly… or not, considering that Aman is a huge Spain fan… Italy lost that night.  But, it was still priceless to be there in person, and to be part of, such a unique moment in football history, he said.

Randomly, riding the subway on the way back from the game, Aman ran into an old friend and former colleague from JPM, Chinmay, who he had not seen in years.  This, of course, only reinforced my oft-said belief:  it is a small world after you have worked for JPMorgan...  Such an odd coincidence, Chinmay had just missed his stop when Aman noticed him on the other side of the subway car, which is the only reason why they ran into one another that night.  Chinmay was only in Rome visiting for a few days before he planned to move on to Budapest.  Before parting ways that night, Chinmay and Aman exchanged contact information and made plans to do some sightseeing the next day, which was perfect because, after concluding that I had been pushing myself too hard in Firenze (it was hard to ignore the swelling), I effectively put myself on bed rest for that day. 

Randomly (again), as he was about to leave the hotel the next morning to meet Chinmay, Aman checked his Facebook email and realized that two other friends from New York, Hadley (another JPM vet) and Ilda, were also in Rome.  Aman sent Hadley an email before he left to see if they wanted to get together with us for dinner that night.  He came home later in the afternoon with a fancy new ice bag for my knee, lots of pictures that he took during his day, and an ice cream cone.  

The famous Colosseum:

Gelato break?

More walking around, the Victor Emmanuel II Monument:

Yes, please!

After the gelato had been properly attended to, Aman checked his email and was happy to learn that Hadley and Ilda were in for dinner. Chinmay, who Aman had invited earlier in the day, was also joining us.  And, like that, we had dinner plans that night with old friends, something that we had not had in months.  Great company, great food, great setting – it turned out to be an incredibly enjoyable evening!

So, in short, although we may not have seen everything that Rome has to offer in two short days, Aman saw the impressive Colosseum, I got some much needed rest for my leg, and we had a terrific night out with friends.  We would call that a success.  The next day, we left for Salerno as scheduled on an early afternoon train.  Next stop: the Amalfi Coast!

ciao firenze

After a trying couple of weeks in the Netherlands and France, Aman and I were relieved to be sitting on a high-speed train cruising south from Paris, en route to Italy, through the rural pastures of the French countryside, which eventually gave way to the Alpine foothills and, beyond, the Italian Alps.  Given the length of the trip and the fact that we had to switch trains in Torino before reaching our destination, we had some reservations about whether I would be able to withstand the journey.  But, throughout the duration, my leg felt slightly better than it had, ten days earlier, on the way into Paris (which was a much shorter trip) and we optimistically viewed this as a sign that I was slowly, slowly beginning to heal.

Florence, or Firenze, to the locals, was our first stop in Italy, mainly because it is another one of my all-time favorite European cities (such beautiful architecture, so much history, so much culture, such great food!).  I thought that Aman would like it too.  Before our arrival, we briefly toyed around with the idea of staying, not in the city itself, but in the surrounding hills of the Tuscany region where you can find these really unique, old stone farmhouses for let.  Common sense, however, dictated that we not isolate ourselves in some far corner of the countryside when I was unable to get around so easily.  In fact, one of our first priorities after reaching Florence was to find a medical lab where I could have my blood tested again since I was still on coagulants and needed to be closely monitored.  Under the circumstances, it was way more sensible to stay in town.  Thus, we lined up a one-bedroom apartment – recently gut-renovated, reasonably priced, and situated in a central part of town, Santo Spirito – for our four-night stay.  Aman and I were excited to find such a place, considering that it was last minute and we were approaching the peak of the summer tourism season in Italy. 

We disembarked from the train on a gloriously warm afternoon (such a welcome change from the rainy, cold weather that plagued us in France), and made our way out of the station in search of a taxi.  It was only a five-minute drive from there to Santo Spirito, through the unimaginably narrow, haphazard streets of Florence that, despite this modern age, still look as though they are better equipped to handle the width of a horse-drawn cart over a full-sized motor vehicle. 

We reached the address at or around the arranged time, and met the owner’s nephew who let us in and showed us around the apartment.  A bottle of Chianti and silver platter with fresh fruit had been left on the dining room table, a small welcome gift for us. 

That night, Aman and I stayed local and explored the Santo Spirito neighborhood, which we really loved.  Less than two minutes from the entrance to our apartment, we hit the main square – open to the street on one side, and anchored at the far end with the beautiful Basilica di Santo Spirito (Basilica of the Holy Spirit).  Here are a couple shots of the facade of the Basilica that Aman had gotten earlier that afternoon:

On either side of the square, sat a handful of restaurants, as well as a few cafes and a couple of bars.  Each establishment had a small covered seating area in the square, all of which were full of people, talking, eating, and drinking.  Waiters and waitresses scuttled back and forth between the seating areas and the kitchens with plates of food and trays of drink.  A trio of street musicians sat in one corner of the square playing music.  A mix of mostly locals, ex-pats and students milled about.  Not too touristy, we walked around a bit before getting situated at one particular restaurant without being harassed to try this place or that as we surveyed our options.  It was a nice, relaxed scene, and the evening only improved after our meal came – a salad of thinly sliced octopus with fresh green apples, a plate of melon and prosciutto (a must), and a bowl of perfectly-cooked tagliatelle with lamb ragu.  Outstanding.  After dinner, we sat on the edge of the square with some of the locals and watched a random group of friends who had begun to folk dance around the musicians.  It felt unbelievably good to be there.

The next morning, we got an early visit from the owner of the apartment, David, and his lovely wife, Britta.  They had heard from their nephew that I was on crutches and wanted to make sure that the apartment was okay for me, since it could only be reached by climbing three flights of stairs.  Definitely not ideal, but we knew that this was much the norm in Europe (where it is very difficult to find an apartment building with a lift) and, more importantly, I seemed to be managing fine.  With instructions to have a good time in Firenze and call them if we needed anything whatsoever, David and Britta left.

Five minutes later, it occurred to us that we should have asked them if they knew the name and location of a reliable medical lab where I could get a simple blood test done.  I sent David a quick email to inquire.  He responded that he indeed knew a good place, and asked me what time I would like to go that afternoon.  Naturally, he insisted on taking us.  It was too far for me to walk, he said, and, besides, we would never find it on our own.  So we agreed to meet again at 2 p.m.

In the meantime, Aman had to run back to the train station to make a reservation for our upcoming travel – we were planning to spend a couple of nights in Rome after we left Firenze, and then, a week in Salerno.  When he got back, he looked exhausted.  It’s hot out, he said, as I passed him a huge bottle of cold water.  How did it go, I asked, referring to whether or not we had scored reservations for the exact trains that we had wanted.  He shook his head with a slight laugh.  It went fine, he said, but you should have seen the guy at the ticket counter when I tried to explain that I wasn’t Italian.  He wouldn’t believe me… all he kept saying was, No Italiano?!?  No Italiano?!?  We had to laugh, as the incident sounded, not exactly, but sort of, like one of our favorite Russell Peters bits about Indians and Italians (here).

Later that afternoon, we went downstairs to meet David.  Aman was right – it was boiling hot out, nothing but brilliant sunshine and not a cloud in the sky or the slightest breeze.  David arrived right on time, and we took off for the medical lab, making small talk along the way through the winding streets.  As it turned out, David was an extremely interesting guy who grew up locally but, since then, had lived in various exotic corners of the world (U.S. Virgin Islands, Venezuela, Spain, France) and had only recently returned to Firenze with Britta to raise their two small sons.  Full of energy and fluent in five languages, David was, formally, both a dive instructor and a restaurant owner, but currently working as a personal chef.  An obvious character, we liked him immediately.

Pulling up to the medical lab, David insisted on bringing us inside and talking to the receptionist on our behalf.  He wanted to make sure that they knew exactly what we needed, and did not dare think about ripping us off.  Since we did not speak even basic Italian, we had no objections.  To the contrary, we were incredibly grateful.  Inside, however, we found out that the only technicians who could do the blood test were gone for the day.  We were asked to return the next morning before 10 a.m.  After arguing in proper Italian (i.e., animatedly, with his hands) that we had come a far way and insisting that there must be someone on site who could do the simple test, David apologized sincerely to us for the situation.  Everyone was gone but, no problem, he said with a good-natured smile, he would bring us back the next day.  What time, he asked, did we want to return.  Aman and I were blown away by his instinctive kindness.  We gratefully accepted a ride back to the apartment, and agreed to meet the next morning at 8 a.m. 

That afternoon, while I rested my leg, Aman walked around to take some pictures of beautiful Firenze:

Aman and I greeted the next morning eagerly, as we were excited to get the blood test out of the way.  We met David as agreed, and drove across town.  Along the way, David excused himself, as he had to take an important phone call from his sister.  He held his phone in his left hand and, in between shifting gears, used his right hand to steer the car and alternatively talk to his sister using hand gestures for emphasis.  No, of course, his sister could not see his hands moving a mile a minute, but this only fascinated me more. When we got out of the car, I asked Aman if he had noticed that true Italians seem to have an irrepressible tendency to talk with their hands, even when no one is looking!  Aman had caught it too, and the both of us would laugh about it with David and Britta a couple of days later.

After finally succeeding to have my blood test done, Aman and I were on the other side of town and figured it was a good time to see some of the more popular sights, which were in walking distance, such as the beautiful Piazza del Duomo (Cathedral Square):

Wandering around was fun, but it was another hot day and, on my walking sticks, I tired quickly so we made our way back to the apartment not long after lunch.  Aman made a solo mission that night to watch Italy and Germany play in the semi-final round of the UEFA Euro tournament at an outdoor location across town where a large screen had been set up for the event and the crowds were out in large numbers.  Italy won that night to advance to the final.  According to Aman, the mood on the streets was electrifying, or as he would call it when he walked in the door – it was a frenzy in Firenze!

We woke up the next morning glad that we had all urgent medical matters under control and determined to enjoy what appeared, from the inner courtyard window of our apartment, to be another beautifully sunny day outside.  It was a five-minute walk from the apartment to the Palazzo Pitti, former residence of the grand dukes of Tuscany, where we stopped by to check out the Costume Gallery.  (The collection was decent, although I am not sure that we would call it a must-see.)  Hobbling around for thirty minutes or so on my walking sticks also tired me out again, so we took a rest before attempting to leave the gallery when we were done.  Once we started moving, I felt better but we immediately encountered a long flight of stairs that we need to ascend in order to leave.  I paused before it, looked up feeling daunted and took a deep breath, when a woman came from behind us.  We did not see her coming, but rather heard her voice.  Keep it up, she said to me as she passed by, you’re doing great.  With renewed strength, I smiled, said thank you, and climbed the stairs. 

Outside, we only made a quick stop in the Boboli Gardens, which sit behind the Palace, as Aman gently, and correctly, pointed out that I would most likely not be able to handle a proper walk around the expansive lawns in the scorching afternoon sun on my walking sticks.  Instead, we returned to the streets and found a café in Santo Spirito where we enjoyed a couple glasses of refreshingly cold iced tea.  We talked about how beautiful Firenze was, and how happy we were to be there despite the obvious issue with my leg.  Aman told me how proud he was of my efforts (I was doing much better at getting around than I had done in Paris), and I reminded him that it was only with his help that I was doing so well.  We talked about our hopes that my knee would continue to heal so that we could continue our trip.  The conversation then drifted to the random kindness of strangers and, in particular, our wonderful host, David, and how grateful we were to be in his care since we arrived.  Maybe we should see if he and Britta want to have a drink tonight, Aman suggested.  It seems the least we could do is buy them a round or two as our way of saying thanks for everything.  I immediately agreed, that’s not a bad idea.  Aman sent David a quick text message asking whether we could treat them to a drink later in the evening.  The response from David:  Of course!  That would be lovely.  And we know the perfect spot.  We shall all have an apertivo together.  I will pick you up at eight o’clock.  (Generally consisting of light refreshments and a cocktail before dinner, the practice of having an apertivo is a social institution in northern Italy; it is a way of opening the palate before dinner, socializing and relaxing or, in other words, enjoying life a little more slowly.)

After picking us up that night, David brought us to a friend’s private dinner club next to the Boboli Gardens – not for tourists, not even for the general public, this was a place that you could not access without an insider’s help.  Awesome.  We cut through the inside dining area, which was dim and quiet in the pre-dinner hour, and found a large wooden table with oversized benches on the open garden terrace in the back.  It was shaded, in part, by a canopy of tree branches extending over the exterior wall of the Boboli Gardens, and the ground beneath our feet was nothing but loose gravel.  Lovely Britta, an interesting woman in her own right, met us there, with her and David’s adorable boys, Matteo and Tomaso.  David’s good friend, Leo, also joined us later that evening.  What a great evening it turned out to be.  We talked, we laughed, we drank, we ate, we lost track of time – and, just like that, our date for an apertivo went a little too late into the hot summer night.  We were having such a great time that, at some point, Aman and David made plans for us all to spend the next day together.  It was a Sunday, and David and Britta were going to bring the boys to the beach.  Why spend the day at the museum with all of the other tourists, David asked.  Join us and we’ll show you how people in Firenze enjoy their weekends.  As much as I love the Uffizi Museum, we could not resist such an attractive offer.

In high spirits, we all left Firenze early the next morning for Viareggio, a beach town on the Tuscan Riviera located about one hour north of Firenze, which is very popular with the locals.  Gently sloping hills full of dark green olive trees and fields of giant sunflowers – all dutifully facing the sunlight – covered the landscape as we drove through the Tuscan countryside.  Clusters of mustard yellow, lemon yellow, peach and cream-colored houses sat bunched in the hills.  From the backseat, Leo called the manager of the beach club where we were planned to spend the day, and made sure the red carpet would be rolled out when we arrived.  David explained that they were taking us to a proper beach club, highly organized, with a swimming pool and a very nice restaurant and beach chairs and umbrellas and cabanas in which to shower and change after enjoying the sea.  How can you not have the most perfect afternoon ever in such a place? 

True, on the one hand, I could not do much but sit underneath our beach umbrella with a bag of ice on my knee and it felt a little awkward being on crutches at the beach.  But, on the other hand, I did my best to stay present in the moment.  After all, it was a perfect day, everyone was having a great time, and I could not think of a much better place to be laid up with a bag of ice on my knee, or a better group of people to be with.  

Hours later, after a hands down glorious day at the shore, we washed up and piled back in the car.  David was enthusiastic about showing us Pisa.  We’re so close by, he said.  Not on the direct way home, but still, it’s so beautiful.  We must stop so you can see.  When we got there, Aman and I had to laugh in amazement because, one minute, we had no intention of visiting the leaning tower of Pisa and, the next, well, there we were in front of it.  All of the white marble buildings in Pisa's Cathedral Square looked exquisite in the fading light of the day, and the tower in particular was definitely one of the most curious structures that we have seen yet. 

Most visitors were taking each other’s picture “holding up” the tower so that it did not fall over.

We did our best to fit in.

Our group did not stay there long as it was getting late and time for dinner.  After showing us the tower and the Cathedral Square, David and Britta wanted to bring us to one of their favorite restaurants on the outskirts of Firenze, Vera Napoli.  Another place that you will not find in a Lonely Planet guidebook, this was a local joint.  It had a great low-key vibe, good people, and amazing food.  Aman and I started with a ginormous pot of steamed shellfish, before moving on to clams and linguini (for Aman), and a piece of simply grilled branzino with olives, tomatoes and sliced potatoes (for me). 

Everything was unbelievably fresh, perfectly prepared, it was perhaps the best meal that we had in Europe – ahem, that is saying a lot, as we had some pretty unbelievable food this summer.

The next day, it was sadly time to leave.  This time leaving town was particularly hard, because David and Britta had invited us to stay another night, as they were having friends over to watch Italy play Spain in the UEFA Euro final match and welcomed us to join.  And we so enjoyed their company…  

But, we were already behind schedule and felt that we had to move on.  So we stuck to our plans and prepared ourselves for the afternoon train ride to Rome.  Of course, being such gracious hosts, David, Britta and the boys picked us up at the apartment, helped us with our gear, and personally drove us to the train station.

As our train pulled slowly out of Firenze, gaining speed as we proceeded – past countless fields of giant sunflowers, all standing tall and facing the sun – Aman and I stared out the windows of the train, lost in our own thoughts.  One look at each other though, and we knew what we were both thinking.  What an incredible time that was, and how random life is to bring you across the path of such amazing people.  It was just one week earlier that we were discussing the thought of calling this whole trip off…  Thank you, David and Britta, for putting the wind back in our sails.

c'est la vie

We are not sure how to sugarcoat this one, so we will have to come out and say it straight:  Paris sucked.  Oh, of course, it was not Paris’ fault.  Paris was as beautiful as ever with its sandy-white stone buildings, all aligned in medium height, their windows adorned with tidy shutters, fancy wrought iron guards and neat flower boxes full of red and pink flowers.

The simple problem was that I could not walk, and Paris is one huge sprawling city with museums, landmarks, restaurants, cafes and other points of interest spread out across twenty arrondissements (or administrative districts) around the river Seine.  Without two good legs, I stood no chance.

We arrived in Paris three nights behind schedule, thanks to my spectacular bicycle accident in Amsterdam.  When the day came for us to travel from Amsterdam to Paris, Aman asked me whether I could withstand the move to a new city given the circumstances.  There’s only one way to find out, I told him, and with that, we packed our bags and left as scheduled on an early morning train.  My knee injury was only four days old at that point, and the train ride was, let’s say, not the most comfortable.  In fact, towards the end of the journey, I politely asked Aman if he would not mind stretching his legs for five minutes and, when he kindly obliged, I commandeered his seat as a prop for my injured leg.

Physically getting out of the train station was no small task either.  With one medium-sized bag on my back and Aman carrying the bulk of our gear, we slowly, slowly – with several breaks so that I could rest along the way – made it down the platform and out of the station where, with no qualms whatsoever, we skipped to the head of the ridiculously long taxi queue, perhaps the only upside of being on crutches that day. 

We planned to spend our first two nights in town at the Westin – Place Vendome, because we had trouble finding a decent apartment in Paris through www.airbnb.com (note that Paris might be the one European city where it costs as much to rent a decent apartment as it does to stay in a hotel) and we had some extra Starwood points to burn.  I frankly could not do much in those first two days – the highlights (i.e., the only two times I left the hotel premises) included a trip to a nearby pub to watch the daily UEFA football matches, and a trip to a nearby café for dinner.  Both places were within a block or so of the hotel, and yet it took me at least twenty minutes to reach our destination on each occasion with the help of my walking sticks. 

Here I am in action:

Instead of exploring the city together, I mostly stayed in and rested while Aman made short solo missions to see and photograph some of the beautiful sights that make Paris so famous. 

Place Vendôme:

The Arc de Triomphe and Avenue des Champs-Élysées:   

The Louvre at Night:

After two nights at the Westin, we checked out and moved into an apartment that we had found for a few nights on Avenue de Breteuil in the 7th arrondissement.  A classic one-bedroom Parisian apartment, it had a large sitting room with full-length balcony door windows, which opened up right above the treetops of the wide-set avenue below.  With such a lovely view, it was hard not to enjoy this cozy apartment infinitely more than our tiny, overpriced hotel room at the Westin. 

From our new apartment, I tried occasionally to venture out, but ran again into the same problem – my leg was still in a tremendous amount of pain, and I could not walk very far or very fast on my walking sticks.  Naturally, Aman continued to brighten my days with pictures from his solo exploration missions.

The Eiffel Tower:

The Panthéon:

He would sometimes return from these missions and tell me how everything he saw reminded him of me, do not ask me why.

After two days in our new place, it was time for my one-week medical check-up.  Aman and I were both looking forward to it, in a strange way, because we needed a fuller understanding of what exactly was going on with my leg – the doctors in Amsterdam had only done x-rays, which, while helpful in identifying broken bones, can only show you so much with a complex joint such as your knee.  We grabbed a taxi early that morning and took off for the American Hospital of Paris.  Diagnosis after an MRI:  a torn medial ligament, a partially ruptured ACL, as well as the avulsion fracture and multiple contusions to the tibia.  The orthopedic surgeon told me it would be at least six to eight weeks on crutches.  Great.  As if that was not enough, a Doppler exam also revealed that I had developed a small blood clot in my left calf.  My leg was officially a proper mess.  Having consulted numerous doctors and various specialists, we left the hospital eight hours after we had arrived, completely exhausted, with prescriptions for a special knee brace and coagulants (to dissolve the blood clot).

As one might suspect, the next couple of days consisted of many serious discussions between Aman and me about the fate of the rest of our trip.  On the one hand, it was great (to say the least) that I had not completely ruptured my ACL, which would have meant game over, mandatory surgery.  On the other hand, I was unable to walk, cooped up, and unable to enjoy everything that we were supposed to be doing together.  Do we call it off?  Do we go home?  Is it stupid to carry on with such a serious injury in hopes that it heals with time?  What if it doesn’t?  In short, it was a very dark time for Team Nomad.

As we pondered our predicament, the next week involved more running (in my case, hopping) about… from a specialty orthopedics office to get fitted for my knee brace, to pharmacy after pharmacy for various prescriptions, to the hospital again for a five-hour visit regarding the condition of my blood clot and reaction to being on coagulants…  oh, did we mention that Paris sucked?

Aman, patiently watching the local news as we waited for some results from a blood test (and, no, he does not understand French...):

Me, after my second and last trip to the hospital, sporting my new top-of-the-line knee brace:

We tried our best to make the most of it.  For one, there was an awesome street market set up twice a week, not more than fifty meters from the doorstep of our apartment on Avenue de Breteuil.  It could not have been more conveniently located, and gave me a manageable way of getting some fresh air and leisurely exercise, as well as some food for snacks and cooking.

Also, I let Aman convince me that we should visit the world’s most visited museum, the Louvre, before leaving Paris.  Make no mistake; I had my reservations about this idea.  Having been there several years ago, I knew the Louvre is massive; it is one of the world’s largest museums.  But, Aman had checked the museum’s website and confirmed that wheelchairs were available for those who may have difficulty getting around the museum.  I cannot say I was too thrilled about this idea either…  But, after being more or less confined in an apartment for a week, I was desperate to get out.  So, I relented. 

Walking up to the main entrance at the pyramid, we got plenty of curious looks, mostly from little children who, I am pretty sure, thought that my impressive-looking knee brace might have been drilled on and permanently attached to my leg.  But, as soon as the security guard saw us approaching, I received nothing but VIP treatment.  Did you know that the Louvre has a special museum floor plan for handicapped visitors to show where all of the museum’s elevators are located?  (The elevators are not marked on the regular museum floor plans, to keep them from getting overcrowded with people who can alternatively use the stairs.)  We were actually quite impressed with how well the museum tries to accommodate those who have difficulty moving about.

Aman, enjoying our big day out:

Me, less so:

So, for all of the obvious reasons, we will not remember Paris as the greatest highlight of our trip.  Too much time hanging out with doctors, not enough time exploring the streets, and – worst of all – we were falling seriously behind schedule:  although we initially only had planned to spend five nights there, we spent a total of ten in Paris because of follow-up medical appointments. 

At the same time, Aman and I did our best to look at the bright side of things.  For instance, what if something like this had happened elsewhere in a place where modern medicine was not so readily available?  What if I had gotten hurt in some remote place where the doctors did not understand English?  Though we will be more than happy to never see the inside of its walls again, we were incredibly grateful for the solid medical care that I got while at the American Hospital of Paris.  Keeping afloat with the hope that time and some Mediterranean sun would heal my leg, we decided to leave Paris, move on to Italy (as originally intended) and see what happened.