Trail of Crumbs/ Archive / Hotels RSS feed for this section
We didn’t end up going to any touristy grottoes while in Italy – not the Blue Grotto in Capri (it was too cloudy), or the Grotto Smeraldino in Amalfi (not yet open for the season). At lot of people have told me we missed out mightily, and I nod and try to look sad, but honestly, it’s hard for me to feel deprived. I’ve been to a lot of places. I’ve seen a lot of things.
This was the interior dining room at the Hotel Santa Caterina. We ate breakfast here only once, when a light rain was falling.
And then we were in Amalfi.
Okay, fine. It wasn’t exactly that simple. Before we reached the little city on the coast, there was a lot of driving involved, much of it taking place on narrow streets not built to accommodate two lanes of traffic (but this is Italy, and so: two lanes). (more…)
We needed a place to stay in Frigento.
The home that my grandfather had bought my grandmother all those years ago didn’t have heat, so it was out of the question. We arrived just a few weeks before Easter, but even then, the house was still too chilly.
I didn’t need much convincing on this point – when my mother and I had stayed there (nearly a decade ago), it had been September. Every night, we shared the one, massive bed together and froze. I huddled up to her for warmth in a way I hadn’t since I was a kid.
I’m sorry for the lull in blogging, and the long delay in recounting the highlights of our Philly trip. I promise to get back to all of that tomorrow. Today, though, I wanted to tell you about something that happened during our weekend jaunt to California. Because I think the full force of it hasn’t hit me yet (pun not intended).
I often have odd reactions to things, both emotionally and physically. To me, they make sense, of course. But anyone else would think I was a bit strange.
I have slow reflexes, and my flight or fight response is clearly broken. I once saw a car careening towards my friend Lauren, and my response was to rush over to her, put my arms around her and … stand perfectly still. So, you know, she wouldn’t be alone when the car hit her. That was my way of protecting her, I guess. (Spoiler: we were fine.)
My first impression of Paris didn’t take hold until we got to our hotel. The cab ride was lost to a jet-lagged fog – no opinions or observations of the city would be forthcoming. I simply struggled to keep my head up so that the driver would think I was awake, and wouldn’t take any costly detours through the outskirts of the city.
Not that I’d know it if he had.