A 15-Day Sabbatical - England, Germany & Italy

By Kathleen M. Bush

In my more youthful years, I found respite in the wilderness experience. I didn’t have to go far as I’ve always lived in the mountains, which provided me with great climbing, biking, hiking, camping, skiing and horseback oppuntunities. Growing up in Jackson Hole, then moving to Telluride after college in 1985, has given me plenty of quality time in North America’s most splendid alpine hinterlands. Although I am still in need of my weekly commune outside in nature, my pleasure-time sensabilities have changed. Now, I crave going afar, just about anyplace though I admit I shy away from Third World countries, but hope to someday give of my time to help poverity-strickened and sick people in need. Kudos to the many people who give in such a manner; it’s most gracious.

This vacation was a bit different, despite the fact that I had already been to the countries we ventured to on this trip—England, Germany and Italy. (You can never see all of a country unless you live there, and each visit promises to be vastly different than the next.) It was different because I was going without my husband and constant companion of 23 years, Jeffrey. I feel so secure traveling with my hubbie, but frankly he does not like to shop, he’s a tadbit impatient when visiting museums and he’s not a meal-lingerer like I am. I can easily have a two to three-hour lunch or dinner, savoring wine and carrying on about world affairs, political issues, historic prespectives...you know, girl-talk. You got it... at 43 years old, I took my first girls trip with two of my best friends, Vanessa Gurule of Ridgway and Suzanne Dahl of Telluride; albeit Suzanne wasn’t with us the entire stint. Our schedule was as follows: two days in London; three days in Berlin, then we caught the Eurorail down to Florence; where we stayed for eight days; then two days in Rome—never enough time. The focus of the trip was, of course, to have fun, see the sights and digest the cultures. (Tums were needed to aid in the digestion process.)

Out of Denver International Airport (DIA), we boarded a British Airways mega ship and took off over the great big pond, watching movies, reading, cat-napping and eating—some of my very favorite things to do. Upon arriving at the Heathrow Airport in London we took a rather laborious ride on the Tube to the Hyde Park Hilton, but got there safely. (Terrorists bombed that exact Tube right near the Hype Park area, exactly two weeks after Vanessa I rode it. This certainly made us reflect on how lucky we were.) Weighted down by a stupid amount of luggage and 20 pounds of media I collected on London Town, we checked into the hotel and darted straight-away to the West End, London’s famous theatre district.

My father said Phantom of the Opera was one of the best Broadway shows he’d seen, so we went. Excited. Thrilled. And jet-lagged. With glasses of red wine in hand, we sat in the rear of the theatre. I sat next to a Japanese gentleman with a flawlessly pressed white shirt that I managed to make look like a red-spotted dalmation’s garment by the end of the show. You see, I had the bobble-head thing going. For the life of me, I couldn’t stay awake and, apparently, each time my head bobbed down to my chest to sleep, I’d jerk awake during applauses or Vanessa nudging me, which for some reason caused my wine-holding hand to slap against the arm of the chair, showering the once well-groomed fellow next to me with Merlot, several times. He may not have looked so good at the end of the Phantom of the Opera—which I heard, by the by, was very good—but he sure ended up smelling plummy with a subtle scent of cedar, or was it oak? I apolized profusely. He duo-ed the nod, bow thing to me and walked away. I think he thought I was an epileptic, which ironically I was in my youth. Making it our goal to stay up to 10 p.m., we proceeded to a restuarant just down the street called the Quad. It was designed London-style. Hip, timeless and coooooool. I had chicken that was dry as could be, but the wine was good and we befriended two women lawyers, who have become quite good friends with us since. We talked way into the evening and then went to our first and only nightclub on the whole trip, which was the illustrious Cheers, where we danced and watched each other’s lips move ‘til 3 a.m.; we tried to talk to each other, but couldn’t hear a thing. A rickshaw (bike carriage) fellow took us back to our hotel and charged us three times the going rate, cause it was all uphill and we’re American’s carrying a little extra baggage, if you know what I mean. Or, at least that’s what we thought.

The next two days we not only got to ride in “Super Nanny” cabs, as Vanessa calls them, but we toured the Tower of London, Tower Bridge, saw the Crown Jewels, Buckingham Palace, Houses of Parliment, Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, Westminster and meandered the bustling, vibrant streets of London Town. For a “first-timer” like Vanessa, in particular, London is nothing short of awesome. This great city dwarfs most all great cities of the world in culture, hospitality and history. Seeing palaces, castles, fortresses, the River Thames and the fantastic array of art and architecture is mind-bogglingly magnificent. But admittedly, our journey wasn’t just about sight-seeing as I view that as a vicarious way of experiencing a culture, our journey was aimed at interacting with the natives as much as possible to pick up on their life’s views and such. Thus, we hooked up with our new lawyer friends, Ira and Suzanne, for dinner and another night out. We went to a great dinner place, just below the Tower of London and chatted about the differences between Brits and Americans, trying to solve the world’s challenges. As lawyers, they brought unlikely world views and great insights to the table. We’ve been emailing them since our departure from London, where we “puddled jumped” into Berlin, which is in the northern realm of Germany, once part of the Eastern Block. It proved interesting as well, but not nearly as delightful.

A student of history and a several-time visitor to Germany, but not Berlin, I kinda knew what to expect of this Old World country. In the past, I particulary liked the Rhine River area and the quaint, clean villages filled with gregarious folks. I found the castles to be extraordinary in Germany. In fact, Germany ranked as one of the favorite European countries I’ve ever visited, but the death camps never resonated well with me. My husband speaks German and lived there for a while growing up, so our trips there have always been very interactive and fun. In fact, one of our best friends from college lives out of Munich and works in defense systems for Texas Instruments. With Vanessa, however, the story was different as she said she had a “sick feeling” there, which was brought forth from us visiting the Nazi headquarters, the massive “murdered” Jewish sites, Check Point Charlie and other “attractions” of World War I and II. No reality hits as much as “being there, seeing what is and was.“ The reality of what Vanessa heard about—the slaughter of the Jews, Catholics and whomever else the German Nazi machine didn’t want in their way as well as the constrainment of German peoples behind the Berlin Wall—seemingly had displaced my companion’s spirits and left her pathitically mesmerized. On the other hand, we had dinner in the tallest building in Berlin, enjoyed fine shopping and visited other tourist attractions. Undoubtedly the Germans had the best airport system as the minute we walked through security we got our luggage and were instantly at the taxi-cab locale. However, the vibe was to head south to one of the most romantic and gothic countries on earth, Italy. And, so we traveled there via Eurorail, sharing a cabin with a French, Italian, English, Swiss, German-speaking special-ed teacher, who was heading to a small town on the coast of Italy near Pisa to visit her sister. In the European spirit, she embrassed us and helped us find our way.

In the sweltering Tuscan sun, Vanessa and I got on a bus from the Eurorail station in Florence and headed south to Lillano, just north of Sienna. Paolo and Carmela of Rustico Ristorante in Telluride always told me they’d “set us up when we go to Italy.” And they did just that, sublimely, though I was skeptical at first as their “contact” picked us up in a rickety old green Fiat in a small town named Pitigliano, which wasn’t the most attractive village. Frankly, the only thing I really cared about was if there was a modern-day bathroom which would enable us to shower away the days of travel dust and grease we accumulated, and a decent bed, and I loved the idea of being embraced by locals versus just staying in a hotel room. So, when Julia picked us up, she had us rent a car, then we headed to our destination and I candidly asked if there would be a bathroom and she laughed out loud saying “yes.” We followed her Fiat in our van to the place we’d call home for the next week, Lilliano. The wavy country road led us to a half-mile long driveway that dead-ended at a grand Tuscan villa resting atop the hill overlooking hundreds of acres of vineyards; quintessential Tuscany. As we got out of the car, I asked what room was ours and she said the “whole villa is your’s, gratis—swimming pool and all.” In amazement at the amazing castle-like villa, Vanessa and I stared each other down, eye-brows lifted and eyes as wide as flying-saucers. This was ours, how very awe-struck we were, but that was the tip of the iceberg as nearly the minute Julia left, I got a call from an interpreter named Deborah. In an American Southern drawl, Deborah asked me how everything was and said, “The prince would like to meet you this evening.” Jumping up and down, but cooly containing my dumbfoundedness that a prince wanted to meet me, I said, “We need to shower and clean up. Would after five work?” She promptly said she’d come pick us up before five, so the prince may take us on a tour of his vast holdings. Vanessa and I jumped up and down, ran back and forth the length of the very large house like giddy five-year-olds meeting Mickey Mouse for the first time. We, obviously, found it somewhat surreal that we were going to be entertained by a prince, whose name is Giovanni Ruspoli, from noble Roman ancestry that dates back to the 13th century. (Paolo from Telluride told the prince that I had interviewed Vice President Quayle, General Schwartzkopf, international authors and singers, and other such highly respected names to get us passage into the Lillano estate. ) OK then...what does one wear when meeting a prince? I picked a blue silk outfit that was sharp and cool, while Vanessa wore a lovely pink ensemble. Then we were off to meet a prince and have a several-day journey that took us deep into the heart of Tuscan country with born-and-bred natives sharing their culture with us. It was magical.

Suzanne Dahl stepped into our Renaissance journey, where influences from Dante, Brunelleschi, Machiavelli and, of course, Michelangelo enraptured our worlds. Touring Santa Maria Novella, Duomo and Baptistry, Palazzo Vecchio, Palazzo Rucellai and the Mercato Centrale, which is similar to our giant outdoor flea markets. We purchased leather goods, scarves, T-shirts, books and other novelties here for our family, friends and co-workers. But, nothing was as enthralling as the Piazza del Duomo and the bustling streets of Florence. The maze of streets were medieval, but alive with people of every race and place on earth, seemingly. It was just fun sitting at cafés sipping a cappuccino while silently people-watching, too. Suzanne and I headed to Milan while Vanessa laid poolside at our lovely bed and breakfast and read a book, thinking it was a 45-minute train ride north. Ooops, it was a three-and-a-half hour train ride each way, which we used to talk and giggle about everything under the sun, plus we got to engage in our favorite sport when we got there—shopping.

From Milano and Florence we went to Rome, where we visited the Vatican,
one of my life’s dreams. St. Peter’s Cathedral, Vatican museums, Sistine Chapel, Raphael Rooms surrounded and enthralled us to no end. As my Dorling Kindersley travel guide states, St. Peter’s is “Catholicism’s most sacred shrine, the sumptuous, marble-clad Basilica of St. Peter, draws pilgrims and tourists from around the world. The dominant tone is set by Bernini, who created the baldacchion twisting up below Michelangelo’s huge dome.” Seeing the world’s most legendary artists’—Raphael, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and more—artwork bring spiritually and Bible verses alive in such intricate detail was mind-boggling, enriching and inspiring. One could easily spend day after day in Vatican City and never get tire of its glory and praise of the Lord.

But all things must come to an end, so we toured Rome a bit more seeing the Colosseum, the Pantheon and Piazza Navona, which was flanked by colossal Baroque fountains. Two days is not nearly enough time to spend in Rome, a place I longed to return to before we even left. We left though, excited to return to our hubbies, children, animals and friends. We left so much more enlightened by Europe’s vast history filled with empires of architecturals wonders. The glorious art, wonderous architectural feats, genuine people, fabulous food and new friends we made along the way will fill our memory-banks to the brim forever more.