Modified Continental Plan
We work hard to holiday in Italy and comes back ecstatically refreshed.
Two weeks before we set off on our trip-of-a-lifetime I had a rare and significant panic attack. It felt like there were a hundred things still left to do and only about a hundred more that could go wrong. Italy, we decided. On our own, we also decided. They were tough calls: we had never quite attempted anything like it before.
We then tromped the vast environs of the Colosseum, the Imperial Forum and the Palatine Hill. Take a little time to locate the confusing points from which to start the audio guide here and everything will make good sense. But if there were an award for the finest audio guide, it must go to the Galleria Borghese, the museum in this city of museums (watch out: they mandate an advance phone reservation)—it’s lucid and humorous without resorting to Rick Steves’ unfortunate attempts at wit, though his free downloads did save us money at some places.
The Vatican Museums, which we had pre-booked for the following morning, were all about crowd management. We rudely ditched our official tour guide, who detained us in a courtyard for forty minutes of forced bonhomie, opting instead to make our way back, away from the throngs, spending a goodly time at the pinacoteca, a favourite haunt of serious art lovers that’s left undisturbed by most guided tours, and especially its Raphael Room of just five masterpieces, including his finalTransfiguration. The Stanze di Raffaello or Raphael’s Rooms are different; they feature his frescoes, such as the eponymousSchool of Athens, over four rooms, and come towards the end of the standard route, which we followed later and inevitably. The online advance booking is well worth the money for the queues are pythons but I would recommend an audio guide and a whole day for the Vatican Museums. I would also advise arriving earlier than your slotted time to roam the splendid St Peter’s Basilica and Square, spending time with Michelangelo’s iconic Pieta in blessed quiet.
Slightly drunk on all of this, we cleared our heads at the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore, or simply the Florence Cathedral, with the 463-step climb up to the cupola of Brunelleschi’s famed dome, which together with Giotto’s campanile, and the baptistery with Ghiberti’s bronze relief eastern doors (Michelangelo was to describe what we still see as the ‘Gates of Paradise’) make up a Unesco World Heritage Site bang in the middle of bustling Florence.
Still, we trudged faithfully to the St Mark’s Basilica, with its glowing golden mosaics on the ceiling and the carpet-like tiles on the floor, though it was the Frari Church that we were most grateful not to have missed. On the other, quieter side of the Grand Canal, near the San Toma vaporetto stop, a short walk down enchantingly atmospheric streets with far fewer tourists, this living church is full of light and wonders. Herein lie Titian’sAscension of the Virgin and Madonna of the Pesaro Family, Donatello’s painted wooden sculpture of St John the Baptist, and Bellini’s Virgin and Child with Saints and Angels, pious art that set new trends and raised quite a few eyebrows back when it debuted.
We signed off with a sparkling day in Capri, and what a way it was to end our Italian holiday. The annoyingly synchronized tourism of the trip to the Blue Grotto was our last effort at ‘seeing’ the scenic resort island. For all its jetsetting legends, Capri literally charmed our socks off. We skipped the must-see Gardens of Augustus and even a cherished plan to walk to Tiberius’ less-visited Villa Jovis, sidetracked by the superior views on Monte Solaro after a happy chairlift ride (€ 10) and the pebbled beach at Marina Grande, where we joined sunbathing locals for a wet tryst with that hypnotizing Mediterranean blue. Pack your swimsuits, please.
We left Italy but I doubt if it’s ever going to leave us. Steve Brenner, founder-owner of The Beehive and Cross-Pollinate (see ‘The Information’), writes in his blog about visiting an apartment near the Pantheon, described in Cross-Pollinate typically as ‘central’ and situated in ‘a historic building’. He writes that it has a “strip of ancient building jutting out” and, inside, “there’s a hallway with some exposed brick on one side”. The owner tells him the brick dates back about 2,000 years because the building, like so many others thereabouts, came up over the ruins of a much older Rome. She hadn’t mentioned this in her note on the apartment and when Steve asked her why, she shrugged. Italians everywhere are predisposed to this unbelievable lack of a fuss over things that sweep us away. Stefano, our host in Florence, had divided his grandmother’s home into two spacious and elegant apartments. We talked about the building, which was “only about 200 years old” (no lift, again that shrug, and please don’t switch on all electrical appliances simultaneously). Our huge windows looked over gabled roofs and a basilica’s steeple washed by the night’s rain. A noisy market in which sellers broke into song occasionally, shut out by double-plated windows if we wished, unfolded below. It truly wasn’t difficult to imagine Raphael striding down that street, his robe flying, his handsome face preoccupied. The artist who died too young, whose ‘affability and good nature’ Vasari describes in his definitive 1498 Lives of the Artists, could he have passed below? That Raphael who evolved so greatly that his early work is nearly unrecognizable as his, so curious and eager was he to learn? Church bells tolled goosebumps down my arm. In Italy, this Italy or that one, anything is possible and everything feels real.
The intention was to make it affordable enough to return to the most expensive continent in the world and have a more intimate and real experience while there. We devised a Plan over weeks of stolen hours on the internet but by all accounts, most of them wide-eyed and well-meant, we were traipsing unassisted into a tourist trap of pickpocket scams, dangerous railways stations, paperless loos and cramped showers. Still, we had crossed the point of no return (it’s the place where you have already spent more money than you can save by calling something off) and a curious and welcome sense of fatalism took over. We were ready to go. It was quite a trip, as you will see. We stayed in historic buildings where our hosts left us limoncello in the fridge and on the table, il bacione di Firenze, a divine, crumbly chocolate cake. We bought vegetables from street markets and milk from ‘bars’, we swiped train cards like locals and wore our shoes out searching for a Bernini from Gardner’s Art Through the Ages, and of course we pigged out on pizzas and ate gelatos by the dozen. You will find no indulgences here—the cheapest takeaway we could find sometimes cost us more than our favourite restaurant back home—but we took skip-the-queue reservations at many places and slept in comfortable beds every night. The showers, though, were in fact rather cramped.
The first day of our very Roman holiday began with a fortuitous visit to the little-known Santa Maria degli Angeli e dei Martiri, just a stone’s throw from Termini station at the impressive Piazza della Repubblica, the hulking Diocletian baths adjacent. Michelangelo’s last project is misleadingly simple on the outside. Inside is a grand church that features, among other things, a meridian line set in bronze that runs diagonally along the nave.
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We then charged up to Musei Capitolini on the Capitoline Hill by the same name, awestruck by the Piazza del Campidoglio and its necklace of monumental buildings, including the immense Victor Emmanuel II, off which stands this diminutive national museum of spectacular proportions and timelines. They shooed us out at 8pm, the closing time, and we looked around, bemused to see how much light there was left, our body clocks too dazzled to stress over jetlag. When were we going to come back to Rome, this Rome where a McDonald’s in a metro station has brickwork of two millennia past?
Our two-week trip took on a pattern after that and I confess to a partiality to our personal favourites, invariably the less visited sites. After the pleasant historic walk down Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps, the Pantheon (which moved us especially) and Piazza Navona, we sunned ourselves in the vast Piazza del Popolo where we waited for the Santa Maria del Popolo to open (at 4pm for the evening) so that we could pay our respects to the two stunning Caravaggios here—Crucifixion of St Peter and Conversion of St Paul. Our hearts full, we walked the imposing Via XX Settembre, leading up in the evening, its rich embellishments gilded by the light of the waning day, to the Santa Maria Della Vittoria, where we spent a meditative half hour with Bernini’s Ecstasy of Saint Teresa, his sculpture breathing true life into her experience in her own painfully honest words, left as a printout nearby.
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We left Rome but reluctantly, till we reached delightful Florence. We wandered the magnificent Uffizi and Accademia galleries with detours to the beautifully kept Medici Chapel, its ‘new sacristy’ Michelangelo’s first architectural commission (and thus did we see his last and first building projects), home to his hauntingly allegorical Night and Day and Dawn and Dusk, and the Basilica Santa Maria Novella, especially for its Gothic and early Renaissance frescoes, including Masaccio’s Holy Trinity, one of the first attempts at nearly mathematical one-point perspective. It would be wise, though, to accept defeat: the world’s finest collection of Renaissance art cannot be assimilated in a day, or two, or three.
Our third day in Florence was, in fact, nearly hung over from the second, its pace only half-awakened, full of a lassitude perfect for the frequently overlooked Museo Nazionale del Bargello and its silent treasures. Once a prison and barracks, it gives the appearance of a convivial medieval castle now and counts Donatello’s most famous sculpture (David) among its masterpieces but there were other wonders that stayed with us just as much: a rare 11th century Italian tapestry of Emperor Titus’ victory over Jerusalem, its meticulous restoration explained in a thoughtful video; the small yet unforgettable wooden crucifix of a naked Christ, dated from 1495 and attributed to Michelangelo, one of only two polychrome wooden statues in the entire corpus of the master; and the closed-off second floor (ask, and someone will come up from the reception and open it gladly) with its grand armoury, glazed terracotta Verrocchios, and Bernini’s ‘private’ image of Costanza Bonarelli, his lover and the wife of one of the sculptors in his atelier, the most famous of his portraits.
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Unexpectedly, it was Pisa’s sweeping vistas that brought home Italy’s unforced charm—here was one of the country’s most visited curiosities but we weren’t heckled or hurried. We eschewed the tower climb for an expert organ concerto at the Romanesque Tuscan cathedral instead (observe Pisano’s circular pulpit here). Pisa was such a picnic, walking down no-traffic avenues, feasting on freshly baked goodies in an open-air market, joining families with strollers as if we belonged.
Venice wasn’t quite what we expected either. The cobblestoned streets were spilling over with people, narrow walkways and crowded bridges leading over many twists and turns to our tiny apartment. We were in a building that was merely a century old (our young landlady said she lived in one that dates back to 1400), its pretty courtyard a charming patch of quiet from which matrons hung out dripping clothes on ropes with pulleys and a smiling ‘Scusi!’ Venice itself was its greatest sight.
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Our last day in Venice was its finest. We took the delightful Secret Itineraries tour to the Doge’s Palace, led by a sweet-natured and well-informed guide to the closed-off upstairs rooms, with a memorable account of Casanova’s escape from the prison here. The Doge’s manages the crowds snaking up to it with élan and efficiency. Later, Burano was the island we picked for a joyride of a trip. It’s rustically beautiful and demands only a leisurely walk full of photo-ops at its brightly painted houses. We were so captivated that we did not make it to the nearly abandoned Torcello with its famed Byzantine cathedral, another five-minute boat ride away. We should have, we should have.
Our last stretch brought us to raucous Naples, which we roamed declining any specific agenda, before spending a cherished day in Pompeii’s astonishingly well-preserved ruins. Avoid the misleading ‘Info Point’ and ‘Ticket Office’ just outside the Circumvesuviana train station and head to the Porto Marina entrance for the official version, which includes a handy map. Invest in an audio guide (a steal for € 5 each for two people or more; Rick Steves is a mere trailer here) and spend a windswept, brilliant day that can last as long as you like. There are drinking water fountains inside, and an overpriced cafeteria.
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We left Italy but I doubt if it’s ever going to leave us. Steve Brenner, founder-owner of The Beehive and Cross-Pollinate (see ‘The Information’), writes in his blog about visiting an apartment near the Pantheon, described in Cross-Pollinate typically as ‘central’ and situated in ‘a historic building’. He writes that it has a “strip of ancient building jutting out” and, inside, “there’s a hallway with some exposed brick on one side”. The owner tells him the brick dates back about 2,000 years because the building, like so many others thereabouts, came up over the ruins of a much older Rome. She hadn’t mentioned this in her note on the apartment and when Steve asked her why, she shrugged. Italians everywhere are predisposed to this unbelievable lack of a fuss over things that sweep us away. Stefano, our host in Florence, had divided his grandmother’s home into two spacious and elegant apartments. We talked about the building, which was “only about 200 years old” (no lift, again that shrug, and please don’t switch on all electrical appliances simultaneously). Our huge windows looked over gabled roofs and a basilica’s steeple washed by the night’s rain. A noisy market in which sellers broke into song occasionally, shut out by double-plated windows if we wished, unfolded below. It truly wasn’t difficult to imagine Raphael striding down that street, his robe flying, his handsome face preoccupied. The artist who died too young, whose ‘affability and good nature’ Vasari describes in his definitive 1498 Lives of the Artists, could he have passed below? That Raphael who evolved so greatly that his early work is nearly unrecognizable as his, so curious and eager was he to learn? Church bells tolled goosebumps down my arm. In Italy, this Italy or that one, anything is possible and everything feels real.
The Information
Getting around
The fantastic Italian train network was a wonderful way for us to get around—it was reliable, clean, safe, affordable and fast (speeds up to 300kmph). The multi-level train stations or ‘staziones’ are bustling hubs connected marvellously well to buses, trams and metro lines. The booking and swiping system is easy to understand and major signs are helpfully bilingual. Note, a point-to-point ticket is cheaper than a Eurail pass if your plans are firmed up and there’s only one inter-city journey on a given day. We booked our tickets via raileurope.co.in, an easy site to navigate with prices in rupees, finding out too late that we could have avoided Eurail’s steep service charges on trenitalia.com. But, for the latter, you must know the name of the station at which you wish to arrive (for instance, Firenze Santa Maria Novella or Firenze Rifredi for Florence).
Trenitalia’s Eurostars, Frecciabianca, Frecciarossa and Frecciargento, and Italo’s privately run service (free wi-fi onboard), are superfast, posher and have pre-determined seat reservations. Regional trains are slower, they stop at more stations, and they are cheaper. Tickets for them have to be validated in the green machines positioned at the start of all platforms and their carriage comfort is comparable to our Shatabdis. We loved our train journeys, catching naps, enjoying the scenic countryside whizz by, and people watching.
Local transport varied from city to city. The Roma Pass gave us unlimited access to the capital’s terrific metro and bus networks, and discounts and queue breaks at sites. Florenceand Pisa, on the other hand, are cities meant for walking.
ACTV runs a fantastic network of vaporetto (‘water buses’) in and around Venice. The imob card is a nice deal at € 35 per person for 72 hours; it gave us unlimited access to all of Venice plus the islands and buses to Mestre on the mainland.
We found even Naples’ tram and buses quite okay, and the clattering Circumvesuviana a very convenient way to get to Pompeii (40min; trains at half hour intervals); Sorrento is further down the same line. We took the early 7.25am Caremar ferry from Naples’ Calata Porta di Massa to Capri (80min) for € 11 per person as opposed to the € 22 for the hourly hydrofoil from the nearby Molo Beverello. Anyhow, don’t stress about the details. It takes just a couple of days to get over the newness of things and whizz about feeling like a champ—the user-friendliness of Italian services had more to do with this than our bravado, of course.
Where to stay
We stayed in rented apartments to save money. They were home in the days that followed: a place where we could unwind with free wi-fi, enjoy more space than any hotel room we could afford, and potter about the fully equipped kitchens (not just microwaves, pans and crockery but coffee-tea-sugar-salt-pepper-olive oil). There was no room service or housekeeping but washing machines and ironing boards kept our suitcases light, we could check-in and check-out to our convenience, and our host once drove down late in the evening to see if he could help with a laptop crash.
We found Cross-Pollinate (cross-pollinate.com), which also lists B&Bs, an excellent resource with plenty of choice and an easy and fair reservation system (10% non-refundable, paid upfront by credit card, the rest as cash on arrival, cancellation allowed up to 24hrs prior). Centrally located ‘quads’, usually with a single queen-size bed and a largish sofa-cum-bed, cost us roughly half of what a modest hotel room would have done (€ 100-150 per night for all four of us). Historic buildings sometimes don’t have lifts so you might wish to keep that in mind when you book. Properties are not standardized, naturally: if our apartment in Rome was a compact study in good design, the one in Florence was expansive and stylish, and the one in Venice lived up to the city’s reputation for ultra-cramped quarters (I would strongly advise treating a quad as a room fit only for two in Venice). Cross-Pollinate’s founders also run The Beehive (the-beehive.com), an artsy and affordable budget hotel in Rome.
We chose the super-friendly Hostel of the Sun (hostelnapoli.com, part of hostelworld.com) for Naples, where Cross-Pollinate does not list any properties, and we picked their more expensive but still affordable hotel-type rooms (€ 70 for a double with en suite bathrooms).
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