AW COME ON!

First England blows it in extra time against the hated French, now perenial underachievers Spain limp to a tie with Greece? It's almost enough to make a guy stop following Euro 2000.

The pundits are calling last night's debate a draw... but we know better, don't we, Stevie? Better call the movers, Paul.

DAMNIT!

Anyone know if there are clumps of that balding bastard Zidane's hair on e-Bay?...

I'm making a Voodoo doll.

Started my new job last week... I now work HERE. When people hear that I used to work HERE, they make a funny face... but when they find out that before that, I worked HERE, they curse at me!

New job is fantastic... It is the kind of job that keeps me so busy, that before you know it, it is 6pm and I have to go home. I often have to force myself to leave because I am so into what I am doing.

Am I becoming a workaholic?...

60 years ago today a bunch of 20-25 year old Canadian boys were asked to do the impossible. They were farmboys from around Prince Albert, clerks from Winnipeg, lumber workers from New Brunswick and students from Montreal. The came from all walks of life and from all over Canada. They were not professionals. They were volunteers. Most were probably confused and scared shitless. But they jumped out of the planes, and waded ashore as the mortars fell and the machine guns fired. Alot of them died. Those who didn't had to watch as their friends collapsed and expired, choking on their own blood or crying out for their mothers. It must have been just about the worse thing you could ask someone to do... yet they did it, and they got farther inland than either the Americans or the Brits on that first day of Europe's liberation. Why? Because they had honour and they believed in something.

We owe them so much, and yet we can't repay them... only remember and honour them.

I finally finished putting the photos from my trip online... those of you who want to see them can send me an e-mail and I'll give you the link. I have now started my new job, and my trip feels like something that happened years ago, even though I have been back in Canada for less than a week... if I didn't have the photos and this blog I might almost wonder if I had even gone to Europe...surreal!

After spending so much time in old churches and art galleries, I have developed an interest in the history of the early Catholic church. I noticed that certain individuals who figure so prominently in the religious art of Italy are often represented with the objects of their martyrdom: Saint Peter crucified upside down on a cross, Saint Sebastian tied to a tree and pierced with arrows, or Saint Lawrence holding the grill upon which he was roasted, for instance. There are numerous sources of information on martyrs available on the Web and the details of their gruesome deaths make for fascinating reading... if you have a strong stomach.

Some martyrs appear to have suffered martyrdom willingly, even eagerly. In Westminster Cathedral, on a beautiful mosaic, I read the words that Saint Andrew is supposed to have spoken as he was about to be crucified. He said:

O bona crux que decurem et pulcritudinem de membris oni susepsti. Accireme ab hominibus et redde me magistro meo ut per te recipiat qui per te me redemit,

which in English translates roughly as:

Oh precious cross, which the members of my Lord have made so fair and Godly. welcome me from among men and join me again to my master, that as by thee he redeemed me, so by thee also he may take me unto himself.

That a person would accept and even embrace such horrible torment is almost incomprehensible to us today... but by such incredible faith and devotion was the early church sustained. Is it any wonder it has endured 2000 years?

On my last day overseas, I visited Westerham, the birthplace of Winston Churchill and James Wolfe, whose monument I had seen the day before in Westminster Abbey. I also hung out at a local pub, nd had the best dinner of the trip at a fantastic restaurant run by Corrado, friend of my cousin and her fiance. (It was a Neapolitan restaurant, not an English one). Now I am at Gatwick, reflecting on the fact that all good things must come to an end, sooner or later. I am a bit sad, but I am also looking forward to getting home, and facing whatever th future has in store for me....

The flight from Madrid to Gatwick was a piece of cake (more like an "air-taxi" than a real trip), and upon arrival in Bromley, a suburb of London, I had the pleasure of meeting my cousin Sara and her fiance. It was really was like meeting Sara for the first time, since the driven career woman with the wry sense of humour I got to know a bit last night bears no resemblance to the surly teenager with whom I butted heads when I was 14, literally half a lifetime ago. Danilo, her fiance, is a fantastic guy and a great cook to boot. He worked some strange alchemy on some chicken with lemon and wine that had me considering kidnapping him and bringing him back to Canada to teach how to make food taste halfway decent.

After a few drinks, we called it a night early so that I could head downtown with Danilo today and spend the day doing the tourist thing. London was exactly as it was the last time I was there... seething with people and absolutely mad. There's no way I'm going back there tomorrow, which will be a weekend. Still, I managed to see Westminster Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, and hang out around Trafalgar Square. True to form, I also visited the National Gallery which, gasp, does not charge an admission fee (they "suggest" a donation of 4£, however). This museum is extremely impressive, and what it may lack in depth (it does not appear to have a substantial collection of any one's artist's works... or at least, not the sections I saw) it makes up in breadth, covering every area of Europe and every century from the 13th to the 20th. Definitely a must-see for anyone planning a trip to London... I'm almost ashamed of myself for not having been the first time I was in London three years ago.

Tomorrow is my last full day in Europe...

Well, this is it, I guess. Last day in Madrid.As if to put a period at the end of the sentence, I watched Oporto beat Monaco in the Champion´s League final last night. James´ Euro 2004 trip is just about over. I am grabbing an Easyjet flight to London this afternoon. In London, I will be staying with my cousin Sara, whom I have not seen for 14 years. I will also get to meet her fiance, which is great, since I plan on coming to the wedding next June, and this way the groom won´t be a complete stranger ("Nice to meet you... so I understand you are marrying my prima today..")

Yesterday, I spent the day at the Prado. I have now visited 3 of Europe´s -and possibly, the world´s- top museums: The Vatican, The Ufizzi, and the Prado. The Prado is a monument to the glories of Spain´s golden age in the 16th century. Whereas the Ufizzi is small and compact, the Prado is massive. It overflows with works by Goya, Velazquez (Las Meninas is truly one of the most amazing paintings I have ever seen), Bosch, El Greco, Raphael and the "big three" of the Venetian Renaissance: Titian, Tintoretto, and Veronese. It also contains works by one of my "new" favourites, Bellini. Bellini was a very influential painter who sometimes gets overlooked. His canvases are bright and beautiful, truly uplifting.

Interestingly enough, the Prado also bears witness to Spain´s decline, and its troubled history of civil strife. Several of Velasquez´ frank and honest paintings of 17th century Hapsburg royals depict sallow-skinned, bulbous lipped figures with underbites, clearly showing the effects of inbreeding. You can almost see the frustration on Philip IV´s tired face as he sits astride his horse, a sad figure. His empire is crumbling, his son is an imbecile, the women of his family barely have time to squeeze out one child before they croak. Maybe he is thinking "Why can´t it be like the good old days? Grampa had it so much better!"

Then, there is Goya. As far as I am concerned, this artist is in a class by himself. His black period paintings are more frightening and disturbing than anything ever written by Edgar Allen Poe. His earlier works known as "Caprichos" are incredibly compelling, making you feel like you are a part of the action. His portraits are second to none. With 5 minutes to go before closing, I sprinted down the hall to see two of his most famous works, Dos de Mayo and Tres de Mayo, which depicts the Madrid uprising of 1808 against Napoleon and its aftermath. Lets just say that if you go to the Prado and miss these two masterpieces, you are crazy.

I´m not going to say that the Prado is the best museum in the world... I haven´t seen the Louvre, the Guggenheim, etc... but given that I am half-Spanish, could you blame me if I did?

With four days to go in Europe, the pace is definitely slowing for this traveller. In Rome, I was like a hyperactive kid on a sugar rush. In Madrid, I have adopted the leisurly pace of a retiree, seeing one major site a day, spending alot of time sleeping, reading, sitting with my grandfather, or chatting with my aunt. It is just as well. When I got here, I had been driving myself at a relentless pace since the first week of this month. My health was bad, I looked terrible, felt terrible, but was strangely euphoric -A real "travel junkie". On Monday, my first night in Madrid, I crashed hard and slept for 10 hours.

Yesterday, I went and saw Goya´s tomb at the San Antonio de las Flores church. The building is small and nondescript on the outside, but within, on the ceiling, there is a magnificent fresco by Goya depicting the miracle of Saint Anthony of Padua, who resurrected a murdered man to proclaim his father innocent of the crime. I also stopped at Casa Mingo, a true gem of spot, which is right next to the Panteon de Goya (as the Spanish call his crypt). At Casa Mingo, you can sip a delicious glass of crisp apple cider and munch on chorizo a la sidra (cider sausage), while you watch the chefs work the rotisserie. At lunch, the locals guzzle the delicious cider and devour the pollo asado (roast chicken), which is the house specialty. The smell alone will send you to heaven...

Today, I am going to visit the Prado, probably the last museum on this trip, which has been part university art course, part religious pilgrimage, punctuated by the occasional bender! Basically, it has been altogether fantastic.

... to pick up where I left off, my first full day in Barcelona was capped off by a night on the town -which, to me, seemed to be de rigueur considering the circumstances -I was in Barcelona, dammit! Inexplicably, many of the people at the hostel did not seem interested in going out, claiming they were "tired"... In my opinion, if you are on a trip, and you are going to take a night off, Barcelona, widely considered to have one of the best nightlifes in Europe, is NOT the place to do it. Nevertheless, I managed to meet some pretty good guys from the States and Oznur, a girl from Turkey, who were interested.

I had actually seen Oznur before... kinda. She had chatted to the aforementioned Canadian girls on the train to Barcelona as I dozed. Still, we recognized each other and laughed at the coincidence. Barcelona must have a hundred hostels and yet we ended up in the same one. I found it pretty cool to spend time with someone from Turkey, after weeks of hanging around with yanks and other members of the Commonwealth.

Barcelona at night is a sight to behold. La Rambla and the surrounding streets are choked with tourists and locals, street performers, vendors, artists, musicians, vagabonds, drug pushers, prostitutes (one of whom flashed me and grabbed my butt as I walked by... no kidding) and dozens of guys carrying around six packs of beer and trying to sell you one for a Euro. The beerboys can´t possibly do very good business until the end of the night, when people are drunk and lazy, because you can buy tall cans of beer for less than a Euro in grocery stores on either side of the main blvd. That is what I did more than once that night. The American boys opted for 2€ wine, which they drank quickly and efficiently straight from the bottle as we wandered.

We hit a few cool bars, including one (the name escapes me at the moment)that was done up like some psychedelic enchanted forest with gnomes and toadstools and scary trees with faces. We also hung out in plazas, where patrons from bars packed to the rafters spilled out into the main square, drinks in hand, to continue their revelry at the next stop. It was loud, raucous, and plain fun. Being the responsible sightseers that we were, Oznur and I decided to call it a night around 3 a.m. in order to get a bit of shut-eye before tackling the city the next day. The Americans, somewhat mesmerized, stayed out and paid for it the next day... but I´m sure they didn´t really mind.

After a night of torture on the rack in my hostel bed, I got up cranky at around 9 and headed out with Rahim, a guy from Toronto, to check out more of the Barri Gotic and the area East of it. We finally met up with Oznur, who had gone to buy her train ticket to San Sebastian, at midday, at the Sagrada Familia cathedral, Gaudi´s unfinished masterpiece. I thought that I was finally "churched-out" by the time I got to Barcelona, but the S-F proved me wrong. I was captivated by this structure that is, after all, essentially a construction site. At the pace they are building, it should be busy around the time my grandkids bring their children to Spain. I explained the two facades, depicting the birth and early life of Jesus, and the Passion, to my two companions, both of whom happened to be muslim. It was kind of funny to tell this story, which, owing to my Euro-centric point of view, I used to think was universally well-known...

Rahim took off to buy his ticket (I was very happy to have bought mine upon my arrival in this city. Barcelona, for all its charms, is fairly spread out). Oznur and I headed to Parc Guelli, which was designed by Gaudi. I was lukewarm about going there, but decided to take a chance. It turned out to be the highlight of the day. We ended up sitting in this amazing place, sipping a beer in an alcove sculpted from the rock, and enjoying an incredible view of the city. Later, we checked out the Gaudi museum and a few other fantastic sites, before heading back to the hostel. We were only there long enough to change before heading out for supper..It was then that I realized that it was 10 pm already! My two amazing days in Barcelona were capped by another stroll down La Rambla. This city had definitely lived up to expectations and was certainly one of my favourite places. It is weird, elegant, crazy, pretty, fun. It is hard to do it justice with descriptions... you just have to visit, that is all there is to it.

Yesterday, I got to Atocha station in Madrid after a long train ride and was greeted by my Aunt Mila, who immediately took me to see the memorial for the victims of March 11. I was very moved. Upon arrival at her apartment, I greeted my 97-year old grandfather, know to all as el abuelo (literally, "The Grandfather").

Although at times he didn´t know me, there were also flickers of recognition in his eyes, particularly when I gave him the pictures of the family. He held them in his hands and studied them at length. After a few minutes, groaning as he struggled to raise himself out of his chair (my aunt insisted I "allow him to do his exercise"), he walked slowly across the room, and delicately place the pictures on his mantle, alongside other family photos.

I also spent some time with my cousin Celia and her husband, who dropped by after work, and I discovered that Abuelo and I enjoy similar hobbies... since I have been smoking on this trip, we spent alot of time coughing together. It was great to see him again, considering that T thought that the last time, years ago, was really going to be the last time.

Once, today, Diana, my Abuelo´s helper, shouted into his ear (he is quite deaf) "Don Jose, sabes quien es este?" (Don Jose, do you know who this is?). He furrowed his brow and appeared to think for a minute. When told that it was his Grandson from Canada, his face lit up. "hombre!" he said. I laughed.


I have been checking my usual sites for news and commentary. Occasionally, Mark Steyn hits one out of the park and into the next county. THIS ONE is a bat-bursting grand slam, as far as I am concerned.

The hostel sucks, I nearly died trying to get there, but I´m in Barcelona!

Yesterday morning, I grabbed a quick cafe con leche and a smoke (yeah yeah, I´ll quit when I get back!), hit the train station to buy my train ticket to Madrid, and jumped on the metro to get to hostel I had booked for Saturday and Sunday. A few minutes later, I was staring at the big statue of Columbus at the foot of La Rambla. Great! That was easy...now I know my hostel is around here somewhere... 45 sweat-soaked minutes later, I dragged my bloated pack up the stairs of hostel Abba - the place is a hole. I knew it would be, it has a 51% rating on hostels.com, but everywhere else was booked. The dorm is a biohazard (thank God for hostel sheets) and I wouldn´t bathe swine in the showers, but it is a roof over my head while I am in this city.

The place was deserted, so I got out of there as quickly as I could and headed off to do some sightseeing all on my lonesome. I walked up La Rambla, and headed up to check out some Gaudi-designed buildings before grabbing some gazpacho and chorizo and huevos for lunch at a nice little spot away from the tourists. It was dirt cheap and on TV, they had the royal wedding of Felipe and Leticia, his hot TV host princess. Later, I checked out the Cathedral and the Bari Gotic (not Bario Gotico... this is Catalunya, thank you very much). Eventually, I faced the inevitable and headed back to the hostel. After chatting a bit with some fellow travellers, three american guys and Turkish girl and I headed out for an evening on the town...

A night out in Barcelona!....

Barcelona. Oh, Barcelona, you seductive enchantress, you! This is one sexy city. About five minutes after my arrival here last night I knew that giving Nice the bum´s rush had been the right choice. It is clean, elegant, cosmopolitan, and best of all, CHEAP! I had tapas and a couple of beers at a local bar for 7 €. In Venice, I would have had to sell my blood for a crust of bread.

On the trainride from Montpellier to Barcelona (Incidentally, the scenery around Perpignan and the border... WOW. Moutains to to the West, seaside cliffs and beautiful little towns to the East) I met a couple of Canadian girls who were doing all the major European cities... trouble was, they were only spending about a day or two in each. I mentioned Kontiki. Blank stares. They are doing the Eurorail thing and appear to be spending half of their trip on trains. To each his own, I guess. I suppose the "big overview" trip has its merits. It can help you determine what you want to see more of the next time you come to Europe. The girls told me they were on a very tight budget. They also told me their last stop would be Ibiza. Ibiza, with its 30 Euro cover charges and 12 Euro cocktails. Best of luck, ladies!

Heard from my man Dave, who has reached Slovenia, I think.... or some other part of the former Yugoslavia where all the women are absolutely gorgeous. He was surprised that Emily and I vanished in Venice, until I fired off an apologetic e-mail telling him that we had gone Donavan Bailey to catch the train for Nice. Along with Em, Dave has been a great travelling companion. He is the kind of guy who takes things in stride. He wouldn´t say shit if he had a mouthful. Another mild mannered and polite Englishman perpetuating the stereotype. He is on a much longer trip than me, and it is taking its toll on his skinny ass. Don´t forget to eat Dave! ;-)

I realize that providence brought me into contact with some amazing people over the last couple of weeks. Best of all, we all "travel" similarly... that is to say, we were interested in seeing similar sights and doing similar things. I just spoke to a Canadian guy in my hostel here who is travelling with a friend. There is some tension because the friend wants to chill out in out of the way places, while he wants to see the big cities. I guess compromise is really critical under those circumstances. This just confirms why it was good that I did this on my own. I think I might have bored some people to tears with my obsessive scrutinizing of Roman ruins!

Trying to keep up with the playoffs... Go Calgary. Lord Stanley´s cup needs to come back to a Canadian city.

Updaterino for anyone who cares to read it...

I am in Montpellier, awaiting the train to Barcelona. Why did I flee Nice so precipitously, having spent barely 12 hours there? Simply put, Nice is not Nice. I mean, the city repulsed me. Yesterday, the day's travelling began with a 200 yard sprint, me carrying both heavy packs, to an early train that was about to leave from Venice (Yes we really did want to get out that badly.... hadn't worked that hard since Infantry training in Gagetown N.B. in '97).... The day's travelling ended with us stepping off the train in Nice, greeted by the overpowering stench of a big pile of dogcrap that someone had stepped in. The smell actually made my eyes water...

Dogcrap. It is everywhere in Nice. It should be on the city's coat of arms. It is the perfect symbol for this city that Emily and I both found to be quite grimy and unremarkable. Granted... you can say "Aha, James, but you did not take the time to sample the city's many charms" To which I reply, if you have to wade through three football field lengths of manure and detritus to get to those charms, is it really worth it? I have heard people say that Marseilles is the pimple on the otherwise lovely countenance that is Mediterranean France, but I would point out that a nasty boil has developped in the area of the French Riviera.

To be fair, I did make the moronic decision of showing up in Nice sans logement during the Cannes Film Fest and the Monte Carlo Grand Prix, so basically, you can call the Nice fiasco my comeuppance. In spite of everything, I gotta say that the scenery around Monaco, Cannes, Nice and points West on the Cote d'Azur is as good as people say it is. Also, somewhat to my surprise, the Nicois were all very friendly, and none mocked my Canuck accent when I spoke French. Em and I managed to find a shithole room for quite cheap in a city where every fleabag dive appeared to be booked, so to celebrate our success, and mark her imminent departure for England, we did dinner and drinks and managed to salvage something from yesterday's debacle.

Today, we got up early so that she could catch her plane to Gatwick, and so that I could grab the first thing smoking out of the area. I am gonna miss Em, who has been an amazing travelling companion with her patience, great sense of humour, and ability to mix powerful concoctions of narcotics to keep my sickness at bay ;o) Definitely a true friend.

Where to begin? Where did I leave off, for that matter? The last couple of days have been hectic to say the least. I am currently sitting in an internet cafe in Nice, France. A couple of days ago, I was in Siena... but then, you already know that, don't you? The morning after our second night in Siena, Emily and I decided to move on. It wasn't that we hadn't enjoyed the city... as you may have gathered, I'm basically ready to move there... it was that we both had to adjust our schedules to accommodate Venice. In order to do that, we decided to catch a mid-day train to Florence. That turned out to be a crazy decision...

Before leaving, we decided to check out the Church where Saint Catherine of Siena took her vows. It isn't every day you see the mummified skull of a Saint, but there was Catherine, or rather, there was her head, in a little chapel inside the church. I still can't decide what to make of this bizarre holy relic, but it certainly had an impact of everyone there.

We walked out to the train station with our heavy packs... Emily, always the trooper, had a pack that looked bigger than her. Nevertheless, she soldiered on. We realized that our afternoon trip to Florence would be rushed, but we wanted to go to the Galleria dell'Academia to see Michaelangelo's David before bidding farewell to Firenze once and for all.

As it turned out, we managed to rush to the gallery, spend an hour there, and rush back... but I have to admit it was a bit stressful... we only managed to catch our train by a couple of minutes and we had to run like mad to do it. Still.... I have seen David. Massive, magnificent, beautiful, sublime... he was everything I imagined and he was definitely worth the headache. All other sculpture pales in comparison to this masterpiece.

Arriving in Venice that evening, we trudged wearily to our accomodations, but all fatigue disappeared when we went for a walk along the canals. Venice, long past its era of glory, is now delapidated, shabby, and even a bit vulgar. We even heard that barely half of the buildings there are occupied. Still, there is something magical about the place. We wandered the narrow alleys and along the waterways. Every corner was a postcard picture. I almost started to get used to it!

The next morning, we discovered why they call Venice the most expensive town in Italy. It was highway robbery at every cafe, usurious prices for every service, and plain pickpocketing at the souvenir stalls. For the first time since I arrived in Italy, I found myself genuinely annoyed at the temerity of the hawkers and chiselers. There was also an element of contempt about the place. The locals kinda made you feel like you were the scum of the earth. Somehow, we managed to not get fleeced too badly. By suppertime (where we met back up with David, yet again, and a nice Aussie couple who happened to be friends with a friend of Emily's from Melbourne... small world!) we decided that we would be out of Venice the next day, notwithstanding the fact that we hadnt gone for one of those Gondola rides!

So... yesterday was a travel day... a long tortuous trainride from Venice to Milan to Genoa and finally, here I am in Nice... but more on Nice later. I have to get to Barcelona now!

I have good memories of Venice... the Accademia Gallery and Saint Mark's square were particularly impressive, but sadly, the place will always just seem like a novelty and a giant tourist trap to me... a sad fate for the city that was once known as the Most Serene Republic and was considered a world power among the nation states of the earth

After we walked the girls to the bus stop and wished them well on their way to Rome, Emily and I kinda just wandered the streets of this incredible town. Whereas Florence seems to be more of a Renaissance town, Siena is pure medieval, from its the crenelated tower of its townhall, to the historic banners of its 9 subdivisions. Later, we talked and ate the leftovers from lunch for supper as it rained for the first time since my first night in Italy... pretty incredible luck actually!

Around 9 pm, we heard a terrific commotion in the street outside and rushed out of our hotel, le tre donzelle ("the three damsels"-- I noted the connection to our three american friends that we had met a few hours before and found it a bit spooky.

The people of Siena were celebrating the fact that their hardluck football team had not been "relegated" and so were still a part of Italy's first division. It was organized pandemonium. There was singing and bands playing as the horde carried distinctive black and white banners through the medieval streets to the piazza in the centre of town.

Yesterday, we took it easy, seeing the amazing Gothic Cathedral and a couple of other landmarks, but otherwise resting. Emily and I have both caught nasty colds. Luckily, she is a nurse, and has been keeping me doped up with a steady stream of illegal medication (joking). In spite of our sorry state, we got dressed up and went for a great meal at a fantastic restaurant. I am getting spoiled by all this fantastic Italian food! Today, we are going to do a bit more sightseeing, and then it is off to Venice? Why Venice all of a sudden? Do you even have to ask?... it is Venice!

Last night, we went out on the town in Florence. Although a lovely city, the place is not known for its nightlife, from what I can tell. Still, fortified with a couple of bottles of wine a few shots of Absynth with melted sugar (55% alcohol and a kick like an angry mule), Emily, James, and David set off to see what was going on. We ended up in a little bar just down the way from the hotel Bellavista, which, true to its name, has a great view of the hills surrounding Florence. Since I was already gassed on wine --and as I figured out later, allergy medication-- I nursed my beer and chatted with my companions.

A few minutes after we arrived, Katie, Meagan, and Lindsay arrived. They were three american girls accompanied by some local Italian. We kinda naturally gravitated toward them as the only other english speakers in the bar and by the end of the night we had made boozy plans to all come to Siena this morning. As it turned out, David decided to head to Cinque Terre, but the rest of us jumped on a slow train and ended up spending the afternoon picnicking in the Piazza Campofiori and feasting on italian bread, sausages, cheese, sundried tomatoes and olives (with the obligatory bottle of chianti of course). Since the american girls were heading on to Rome, we figured it was a good idea to nurse our hangovers in this beautiful town before they had to tackle the big city.

Lunch with four lovely ladies in a medieval piazza in the heart of Tuscany... I must have done something good in a past life!;-)

Hooked up last night with some friends I met in Rome --Emily followed me up a day later (I think she was getting a bit overwhelmed by the eternal city... quite understandably!) and David had finished his quick jaunt to the south. After a fantastic day alone in Florence wandering this splendid city, I was ready for company again. We had a great supper -you havent eaten steak until you've had Florentine bisteka- and got a bit blitzed on some cheap wine. It seems that all wine here, even the cheap stuff, is good.

This morning, I cured my hangover with a nice small Italian breakfast, and we headed to the Uffizi gallery at 9 pm to beat the crowds. The Uffizi gallery (literally "office" -named for the former public buildings used by the Medicis that it now occupies) is the little Florentine museum that happens to hold a large proportion of the world's art treasures from the Renaissance period. In this gallery, it seems that every second painting is a masterpiece. I'm talking Michelangelo, Carravaggio, Veronese, Rubens, Titian, Giotto, Pontormo, da Vinci and of course Botticelli's "Birth of Venus", which, judging from the amount of posters featuring this image sold in the gallery's giftshop, is the gallery's most famous piece.

We wandered, awestruck, through the 45 rooms, barely aware of the time. At 2pm we stumbled out into the famous Pizza Della Signoria, footsore and slightly giddy. What an incredible feast for the eyes... but, having nourished the soul, we now needed to feed the stomach We grabbed some bread, ham, cheese, and tomatoes from a local deli and headed down to the Arno for a picnic lunch on the floodway. There were a few sunbathers there, crumpled on the concrete slab. With the Ponte Vecchio as a backdrop, Emily, David, and I washed down our little feast with some leftover wine from last night and roasted in the Tuscan sun. I couldn't have imagined a better day!

How does one describe Pompei? It is as if the ancient Romans had departed the bay of Naples in the last couple of years for some mysterious reason and their city had fallen into disrepair... like those abandoned bungalows you sometimes see in rough parts of the city. It is like you are looking at homes that were abandoned 20 years ago... not buried 2000 years ago. The frescoes, stonework, fountains, courtyards... all immaculately preserved, all fresh, alive. It is also immense... acres and acres of buildings preserved beneath the volcanic ash of vesuvius. The echoes of a vibrant city, a city with personality, is what you find there. Not sterile monuments dedicated to a god-emperor, but little touches of domestic life, the life of the ordinary Roman. The grisly plaster casts of the dead of pompei show that death came swiftly to many that dwelt in that city, and their anguished grimaces and contorted limbs show us that their last moments were painful and terrifying. I shuddered more than once.

Now, I am in Florence. Unbearably gorgeous city... My mom's favourite, I seem to recall. I had to rush from the bus to the hostel to the trainstation to make the Naples-Rome-Florence connection, but it was worth it. In just half a day, I travelled up half the italian peninsula. On the train up, I met a nice young american couple who gave me some tips on what to see in Florence.. we also discussed world events. On this trip, I have yet to meet a single American who supports Bush.. and yet the polls tell us that the race is still fairly close... granted, I have met mostly left and right coasters, rather than folks from the heartland... I arrived late last night and, in spite of my foolish choice not to book ahead, I managed to find a room at a little Pensione just a few steps from the Train station and the City Centre. Today, I am going to take it easy. After the hustle and bustle of the Capital, it will be nice to just go slow for a day or two, and savour the sights and sounds... after all, I am on vacation!

Just checked the Playoff standings.

GO FLAMES GO

Bring the Cup back to Canada, willya?

Jarome has just become the most popular name for newborn boys in Southern Alberta

Meanwhile, in Italy... Going to Pompeii tomorrow. Arrivederci Roma. Then it is on to Firenze.

Today, I visited the Campidoglio. Cant believe I almost missed it. An incredible collection of priceless art treasures and more statues than any reasonable Roman emperor could possibly have any use for. Beautiful. Magnificent. Sublime. What else can I say? Par for the course as far as Rome is concerned. Will my streak continue with Naples and Pompeii (Only a day trip)... what about Florence. Lets wait and see!

Yesterday was about unfinished business. Specifically, the Vatican museums and St. Peter's Basillica. Should you visit Rome and leave without seeing the Sistine Chapel and the view from the top of the Dome of San Pietro? Sure, but you would miss two of the biggest highlights... of course, you can't possibly hope to see everything this city has to offer. With this in mind, I jumped on a tour with Emily, another Aussie that I met two days ago. The Vatican museums are so huge, it would take several lifetimes to explore each of them in detail. With a tour, you have the advantage of a guide, you puts everything in context and shows you the highlights. The Sistine Chapel is every bit as exquisite as people say it is. But whereas most people focus on the ceiling, I was captivated by Michelangelo's depiction of the Last judgment on the wall, with St Bartholemew, a martyr who was skinned alive, holding his own skin, within which is concealed a portrait of the artist!!!

After leaving the tour we went to the top of the Dome of St Peter's and hung out for a while, taking in the panoramic view. Later, we walked down some sidestreets, looking for family that Emily had it town... we couldnt find them, but spent an enjoyable afternoon cruising Rome's less touristy streets. Towards the end of the day, we happened upon a church containing the mortal remains of St Ignatius, the founder of the jesuits and patron of my high school! I was pretty blown away.... Last night was the usual amazing supper (just like the night before... kinda getting routine), followed by drinks by the Trevi fountain, and another late night... not sure I can --or should-- keep this pace up!

Ah, I can rest tomorrow!