La Fine

Italian 'Welcome' mat.

'Parting is such sweet sorrow'...  I never understood that phrase.  Where does the 'sweet' part come in?  Every time Hannes and I wrap our arms around each other in front of sour faced Customs officials at SFO or BRU and leave tear tracks on each other's shoulders, all I feel is the 'sorrow.'  If there is any sweet to be had, it was not in our farewell, but in the final days of our Italian Honeyloon as we tried to milk every last drop of our time together amongst the olive trees. 

You know you want this to be you.

Leaving the beautiful chaos that is Rome, Hannes, Emily and I headed North to Orvieto through some of the most beautiful countryside I've ever laid my well-traveled eyes on.  As the van whipped around the corners of twisting roads and the smell of our La Renella focaccia bread wafted from its alluring cardboard box, we breathed a sigh of contentment... and hunger.  A sigh which turned to glee as we found our way to Azienda Agricola Cioccoleta - a magical agriturismo B&B nestled in acres of luminous green vineyards and orchards.  We sipped a free bottle of their Orvieto Classico while chatting with the husband and wife who ran this oasis and watching the sun slip behind the hills for its own siesta.  That night I practiced my Italian in the streets of Orvieto to snag us a reservation at the most popular restaurant in town, Trattoria La Palomba.  As the words flew gracefully out of my mouth, I looked back at a stunned Hannes and Emily who smiled and patted me on the back for a translation well done.  So far I had come!  From blubbering idiot to semi-intelligible.  Not bad for a month's work. 

At the time we thought this adorable.

The following day we ate a leisurely breakfast of homemade cakes and then wandered through Orvieto in search of picnic delights and limoncello.  The three of us indulged in our last gelatos together and then said our goodbyes.  Even though I knew I'd see my roommate back in SF, leaving Emily was a symbol that the fun was almost over, so it was with a heavy heart that Hannes and I got back into the van without our pint-sized backseat passenger.  The Saturnia hot springs, however, lifted our spirits - along with turning Hannes' wedding ring from gold to blue to purple to green (nothing a little silver polish couldn't fix back on mom's farm.)  Although it's merely a chemical sulfur reaction, we took it as a symbol of love's constant evolution and the unexpected twists and turns of travel. 

That night my Camino Love and I spent cuddled up in the van, drinking Rosolio and champagne, eating porcini pasta and listening to the rain on the roof as wind shook us gently back and forth (add to that, pretending that we didn't wreak of sulfur.)  The last two days of driving were rough - thunderstorms coupled with a tunnel closure in Switzerland and a night spent at a truck stop hoping we weren't mugged.  But we had each other, if only for a few more days - basking in the sweetness of our Honeyloon and wishing that the sorrow would never come.

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Orvieto's colorful church.

A curio shop in Orvieto.

Unknown cliff town we passed on our last day in Italy that made us want to never leave.

The only bright spot of my layover.

RxSw: Part Five...the last part - By Guest Blogger EO

Grandma's house-60 years ago

"Hi Grandma," Alex and I yelled into his phone as we were sitting in a cactus garden in Tucson, AZ. We had decided to give her a call to be good grand-kids and also to get the address of where she used to live while attending beauty school in Tucson 60 years ago. She gave us the address but told us not to go by because she had heard her old house was now terribly run down and in a bad neighborhood. So of course, after breakfast we decided to head straight there thinking it would be cool to see where she lived and it would also be a fun adventure to check out an "off the beaten path" area of the city. We snapped a few photos of the house which seemed to be in good condition in a fine neighborhood and went on with the rest of the day; not thinking too much about it.

Shadow of a Sequoia at the Wawona Hotel 

A few weeks ago my Mom and I paid a visit to my Grandma on our way to Yosemite. Over lunch, I showed her the photo of her Tucson home half afraid that she would be upset with me for going by the house even when she had asked me to not. Instead, tears began to well up in her eyes and she thanked me for taking the photo... She said that during her time in Tucson she didn't have much money, she was all on her own for the most part, but it was the happiest she had ever been in her life.
After lunch, my Mom and I said good-bye to my Grandma and made our way from the Central valley to the Yosemite valley where we would spend the day and night at the Wawona Hotel. The reason I chose this hotel and destination is because of a faint memory I've held onto since childhood of this exact spot. I remembered wrap-around porches and Adirondack chairs casually splayed on a roughly-cut lawn. I remembered the warmth of a summer day and the smell of redwood tress and sugar pines. I remembered how proud I was to know that this kind of beauty exists in my region of California. As soon as we pulled into the Wawona, these memories were actualized once more.

Look at this hipster Mom

After a short hike (first to the gift shop, Mom's request) we made it back to our room for a quick rest (aka, a bottle of wine). Then, we retired to the hotel parlor where we played a game of Scrabble and listened to an incredibly talented and kind pianist play a few requests as well as a song all about the beauty of Yosemite that had been passed down for generations by Yosemite Park Rangers to the tune of "Danny Boy." After a final drink, Mom and I walked back to our room with only the moonlight and a few lights on the wooden porch to guide us. We slept with the windows open that night to breathe in the fresh mountain air.
The next day after breakfast I dropped Mom off at her house and headed back to San Francisco, my home.  This last weekend in the city just happened to be one of the nicest I can remember. It ended up being a weekend filled with bike rides, laughing with friends on the back porch and even going outside at night without wearing a sweater! It was the kind of weekend that doesn't come around that often in this city. It's the kind of weekend that makes me happy beyond measure.
When I first returned to San Francisco from my road-trip I must admit I was not too happy to be back. All the bad things I left and the sad thoughts I felt came rushing back and I just felt the need to get away once more. I just couldn't think of a reason to stay. But now, as I'm watching the sunset from one window in my room and the city skyline from another I have a feeling that 60 years from now I'll look back on this time of my life with tears of happiness in my eyes too.

Me, last day of vacation.