The Gardens at Isola Bella

Travel + Leisure called it "Perhaps the finest example of 17th-century Italian Baroque garden art." 

Outside, the palace at Isola Bella is surrounded by a lush green magnificence — gardens that are sculpted and ornamented with statuary and white peacocks wandering the premises as if they own the place.  

"After visiting the palace you enter the spectacular gardens which are on ten terraces and include an open air theatre which has statues depicting the four elements, the “Giardino del Amore” with geometrically designed hedging, water-lilies and citrus trees the Azalea Garden and the “Piano della Canfora” which is named for the 150-year-old laurel tree growing there. In English style garden, the “Giardino dei Fiori” you will find lotus flowers. At the highest point of the garden you will see a great unicorn which is the symbol of the Borromeo family."  [from visitstresa.com]

                

                 This is flanked on each side by a staircase. 

Didn't get to see this bird flaunt its  plumage.

Each direction you look has something of beauty to see and the statues are complemented by tall cone-shaped evergreens against a backdrop of gorgeous lake waters and mountain peaks in the distance.  In each corner of the terraced place there are hidden gems — a bird aviary, a lovely chair of stone carved to look as if it were made of branches, and a sweet gift shop and small cafe.

We enjoy the rest of our visit — wandering the grounds, admiring all we see.  Marilyn has been waiting for us outside the palace (having seen it many a time before) and before we leave, I walk down the stone embankment to step into the blue-green waters that are cool to my feet after so much walking, walking, walking.

Back in the village of Stresa we stop for delicious gelato, granitas, and a little shopping.  I'm pleased to find a small shop — Dubois — that specializes in toys and games for children but has some lovely inexpensive jewelry. 

                

I survey the gorgeous vistas all around us on the boat ride back to catch our train — all in all — a wonderful, wonderful day.

Isola Bella

                     E-SO-lah BELL-lah ... doesn't it sound beautiful? 

And that is its name — “Beautiful Island” — and that it is.  Built over the 17th century, this island summer palace of the Borromeo family can be reached from Milan by an hour's train ride and plus a short boat ride from the shores of Lake Maggiore and the village of Stresa. 

We set off in the morning and arrive just in time to have lunch in a small café perched on the edge of the island’s rocky border. When I ask the waitress if we can sit at the table closest to the water she shakes her head, “Soon the water will be splashing you there.” And midway through our lunch I see she’s right as the lake waters are lapping at the edges of the railing!  This was the view. 

After lunch, we pass by narrow alleys and stone stairways to find the home built by the Borromeos and enter a stunningly beautiful opulent world that is Napoleonic in feel. Everything is grandiose. From the paintings to the table settings to the gold-leafed furniture, nothing in my experience can identify with the richness of the life these people have lived. 

Very high dome-ceilinged halls and galleries with marble and this glorious elaborate decoration and trim.  You are dwarfed by the size of these rooms.  You are in awe of the pilasters and pediments adorning and crowning every surface.  Outside every window is an amazing view and inside, each room and every wall amaze you — none more than the "grotto" of the palace — the below ground level rooms magnificently encrusted in black and white sea shells and stones. [Photos at the link.]

With posts — at least 14 feet-high wrapped in silver-embroidered pink velvet — a canopy bed sits majestically in the bedroom 

opposite wide-open tall glass French doors that frame the most picturesque vistas.  

How could anyone ever sleep in such splendor?

This photo by Chris.

Next time, we'll step outside to the gardens of Isola Bella...

Milano

My sister-in-law’s best friend from college, Marilyn, had been living in Milan for years — first on and-off and now pretty much full-time — lucky for us we would staying with her and her husband Doug. To give you a sense of the size of their place, let me say this — the hallway of this enormous apartment was like an extra-long beautifully polished lane of a bowling alley. The living room had three sofas in a U-shaped arrangement; each was at least seven or eight feet long! It was perfectly lovely, wonderfully comfortable, and welcoming. 

When you go to Milan there’s one sight that is central to everything else: The Duomo. Now there are duomos and duomos and duomos throughout Italy (more duomos than drugstores it seems) but this is THE duomo in Milan and it is magnificent. I’d been there more than 25 years before and climbed to the top with my friend Carol and spent an incredible afternoon perched out on the marble roof while eating our lunch amid the gargoyles and angels. This visit I took “the lift” instead of the 200+ steps and stared out past the statues over the rooftops under the broiling sun. 

On top of each spire is full-sized statue! 

Once inside the cool cathedral my eyes naturally look down at the unbelievably beautifully inlaid floors...

You can’t do Milan and not see The Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci. Groups of 25 are ushered in to a big hall to gaze upon the frescoed on a wall at the surprised faces surrounding Jesus’ table as he tells his disciples that one of them will betray him. At the other end of the hall in the Santa Maria delle Grazie, there’s another magnificent fresco of the Crucifixion. Technology will bring these views to you at this link.

Though the Brea is the largest museum of Milan we opt for seeing the Ambrosiana Pinacoteca (art gallery) and Biblioteca (library) instead — and while I can't remember all that we saw there, the outstanding exhibit was the Codex Atlanticus, a collection of over 1700 pages of DaVinci's drawings portraying inventions and people and of course the flying machines, Ventricular man, anatomy, levers and pulleys — but also the position of the moon, sun and earth, cranes and screws, light and shadow, even a plan for a series of canals to connect places in Florence.  Yes, the man was a genius and it was genius of the sculptor Pompeo Leoni to collect this trove of Leonardo's work in the 1500s for us to be dazzled by today.

Everyone says Milan’s so industrial but I love it. It’s a great mix of old and new — perfectly depicted by the Museo di Milano e Storia Contemporanea exhibits in the Palazzo Morando, housing the Countess Bolognini's collection of porcelain, sculptures and other objects in what were her private apartments as it was during the Napoleonic era.

Juxtaposed with this opulent look at the past are the marvelous contemporary exhibits on the ground floor.  We were lucky enough to see the fabulous designs in conjunction with the Woolmark Company — celebrating the look of wool.

Chess anyone?

Check out those mitten-pockets!

This array of creative clothing is helping this place live up to its name (the Museum of Contemporary History)  because today — the title of "Fashion Capital of the World" belongs  in large part to Milano.  

On to Lake Maggiore...

From the Pergamon to the Bröhan

It was our last day in Berlin. The night before, we’d met Dirk for a drink — a man we didn't know before coming to Berlin (a connection through Chris’ work) who had been incredibly helpful before we arrived.   Dirk had been sending emails with PDFs of the airport terminal, where to buy the Welcome card (unlimited travel on any public transport), the area where we’d be staying. It was Dirk who alerted us to the fact that although our plane tickets had us going to Berlin-Brandenberg Airport, we'd better check that because that airport wasn't OPEN yet (wish American Airlines had told us that).

While I slurped and sopped up Kartoffelsuppe à la Kaiser Wilhelm (a luscious potato soup) with crusty bread, Dirk convinced Chris that even if we didn't see anything else, we had to go the Pergamon Museum to see the altar and the Gates of Ishtar before leaving Berlin.  Even if we just went in and out in half an hour, we could not leave without seeing the Pergamon.

I hadn’t wanted to tackle the enormity of Museumisle, but if we went there first thing, if we only did that one place, if we only stayed for an hour, we could still go on to the Bröhan Museum before catching the bus to the airport.  I was willing.

Dirk was right. The splendor of the building itself and the architectural monuments inside were beyond what I could imagine anyone ever creating.  Size, symmetry, beauty and all without the benefit of our sophisticated equipment and electrical machinery.  Because Chris and I manage museums very differently, we split up.  I stood dwarfed by the massive Pergamon Altar and the gorgeous impressive blue and gold mosaic Gates of Ishtar, and quickly went through the Museum of Islamic Art which was filled with one object more beautiful then the next.  

http://www.wayfaring.info/2008/06/12/the-ishtar-gate/

To get a sense of the amazing workmanship found throughout the halls of the Pergamon — clearly a picture is worth a thousand words.

                                 

                       

                           

We spent two hours gazing at the spectacular antiquities brought to this palatial place, stone by stone, from faraway lands  — their presence at the Pergamon surrounded by arguments: Where do these creations really belong?  Would they have survived if left in their original sites?  Should they be returned?  Important and valid questions but ones we didn't engage in. We just appreciated that we were seeing the glory and richness of peoples and places past.

Needing to move on, we grabbed a spicy bratwurst from the cart outside, hopped on the right bus, and rode to Charlottenburg to see what I was longing to see — something modern: Art Nouveau & Art Deco at the Bröhan-Museum.

Dwarfed by the enormous Schloss Charlottenburg (the summer palace built by Elector Friederich III in 1699 for his wife Sophie Charlotte — the largest palace in Berlin with "the largest collection of 18th-century French paintings outside of France"), the Bröhan is far more manageable. Small in size but packing a powerful punch, this museum seduces you with its furniture and furnishings of a time in the not-too-distant past I can easily relate to and admire. I float through the rooms, marveling at the vases, silver, sconces and settees.  

I hope this one perfect piece — in the palest green with the loveliest of lines — sums up the exquisiteness of the collection:

To see more, go the museum's site.

We are about to leave Berlin but if we can manage to squeeze it in, there's one last stop — the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church, a church built in 1899, bombed out in WWII, preserved and now surrounded by a new and modern structure, the remains of this building have incredibly detailed mosaic tile work but my photos do not do them justice.  Months before we left, Chris' Aunt Gloria had unexpectedly passed away (only 12 years older than we are) but among her things was a pamphlet from this site.  My mother-in-law felt it was a sign saying, "Go to Berlin and have a good trip!" so we went there and said a prayer for Gloria.

Bus back to Alexanderplatz, a last look at the TV Tower — and we're off to Milan.

Missing My Sister

My daughter asked me, "Do you miss Auntie Donna every day?"

It wasn't the conversation I expected while we were making the salad.

"Well, some weeks, every day — and others not. But while Dad and I were on vacation, that first week I had a tough time because I did miss her every single day — there was so much I wanted to tell her. She would've been so happy for me."

"I'm sorry, Mom," my daughter said as she touched my arm and let me know with her eyes that she was with me in that moment.

To have been on this big vacation finally — one that we'd thought about for half a decade, planned and saved for, for more than a year — and to feel down in the dumps was upsetting.  Feeling down was something I'd struggled with much of my life but not the past few years.  I'd experienced a real sea-change. It wasn't just that my kids seemed happy and were doing well transitioning to adulthood or that Chris and I were doing well too, it was more about me. What I was feeling. How I was managing to put aside some of my perpetual worrying, worrying, worrying, and just allow myself to be happy. Instead of always doing was best for someone else, it was about putting myself first.  It took lots of 
hard work with a smart and insightful therapist.
This sea-change required making very different choices in my life.  Let me give you an example. 

I got on a plane and sat in my aisle seat. One row behind and across is a man on the aisle who reluctantly moves to allow a woman to get in to the window seat next to him. It's clear he's not interested in engaging in conversation; he has papers, he has work, he is busy. The woman is a bit frantically squirming this way and that, looking around and under her seat, under his seat. She catches the flight attendant's attention signalling her to come over, "I've lost one of the lens to my eyeglasses. It must've popped out. I can't see without it. Can you please look in the aisle of the plane?" The attendant nods and continues on, but as she heads back up toward the front of the plane, she's not checking the aisle for the missing lens — she's not even looking down. 

So naturally, I have to look for the stranger's missing lens.  I get up and start walking forward, eyes scanning back and forth, walking up and down, no luck. I remember this woman from the waiting area. I head for the flight attendant at the door. "I need to look for an eyeglass lens in the waiting area. I'll be really quick." and she lets me exit the plane. I run up the jetway, eyes down searching for the glass. I enter the waiting area run to the seats where she was sitting, looking high and low. No luck.  I ask the gate agents. Still no luck. 

Quickly I make my way back to my seat, tell the woman that I looked and didn't see it, and as her face registers surprise, it occurs to me to check one more thing. I turn to the guy sitting next to her.

"Could you check the cuffs on your pants? Maybe it fell down and somehow got caught in your cuff."

He does, but it wasn't there. 

I have run out of things to try.  Finally, I give up, sit down, buckle in, and exhale — feeling I'd failed.  Fell down on the job. Failed someone I didn't even know. That's how my head works. All day, every day.  It's very tiring.

Every time I thought about helping someone else (especially, complete strangers) I had to stop and monitor myself.  But I had been doing so well!  With hard work I was turning things around and focusing more on me. I stopped biting my nails. I'd joined a program at work to help with my weight. I was getting some regular exercise. I was checking in monthly with a coach — getting information about portion control, healthy snacking, fiber-dense calories. I took that class on Authentic Happiness. I bought that bedspread!

The sadness I felt at the beginning of our big vacation came as a surprise to me, but over the trip, thankfully it slipped away. Now I was back home and my daughter's question prompted me once again to think about the loss of my sister and all the feelings associated with that.  It was also the slew of recent news about health issues and surgeries for those I love dearly and their family members and it was about loss all around me.  It was now my generation faced with loss and caregiving. People my age were losing their parents (a hard yet expected loss), but they were also losing their siblings, friends, cousins.  I lost MY sibling and MY cousin.  

It was depressing.  Even though I'd had my dinner and it was too late to be eating anything, I ate two large soft chocolate chip cookies I'd bought for the kids. After that I had two wheels of black licorice my husband bought for me (I adore licorice) and then, after everyone else went to bed, I was still up and still fretting.  With no one to talk to (my sister would've been there to talk to), I went into the kitchen, grabbed the box of Kashi 7 Whole Grain Flakes & Granola with Black Currants & Walnuts (because one of those nutritional pamphlets said snacking on dry cereal was better for you than chips) and I snacked away (without even measuring out the amount).

I hadn't yet read the handout they sent on emotional eating.

A Walking Tour of Neukölln

We were once again fortunate in having a personal tour guide for another adventure in Berlin. Johanna, a recent PhD in German Studies, was going to be in Berlin one of the days we were, and offered to take us on a walking tour of the immigrant neighborhood of Neukölln where (by some counts) approximately 20% of the population is non-German, and half of that population is Turkish.


Arriving in Hermannplatz station, Johanna meets us, and locks up her bike as we stare up at the statue of the "Dancing Couple" in the graffiti-ed and gritty square.  As any good guide would, Johanna wants to gauge our interest and stamina before we start out.

"das tanzende Paar" ...

b030-das-berlin-verzeichnis.de

"I usually begin with one of the cemeteries in the area but if you..."


"I LOVE cemeteries," I interject and realizing we need no persuasion, she heads for the cemetery of the St. Jacobi Church Parish, a lovely patch of lush green and crumbling tombstones.  I particularly liked this one on the right:

We move from the cemetery to Rixdorf, the old section of Neukölln, site of an original Moravian/Bohemian village and on Richardplatz, the oldest continuously operating blacksmith’s shop from 1624 — even more astonishing than its past, is its present because inside, two females are busy at work! 



I am fascinated by the doors, doorknobs, and windows I see everywhere and the seemingly quaint lifestyle all around us.  People biking and walking with their children and their cloth bags of food — it feels very different from where we live. Yes, there are cars, but it's clear that not everyone is driving around from here to there to here.  And I never see anyone rushing!  



While there is "decay" and deterioration, that makes living affordable for artists and others who are seeking to be in Berlin at affordable prices, there is also preservation and the inevitable construction (Frank has told us, "Berlin is ALWAYS under construction") that will cause prices to rise.  Even though it's not a "flea market day," luckily we happen upon a small one with things getting soaked in the rain.  While Chris and Johanna peruse boxes of old postcards of Berlin and find some wonderful images inside, I'm delighted to search for something special (though limited by what I can cart around the rest of the vacation and then home) in the crowded outdoor stalls.   I rule out most things that attract me (breakable/not sure if so-and-so will like it/do I really need another pitcher/picture?) but cannot leave behind two small black frames that look quite plain and boring from the front, but when flipped over reveal that they have been handmade by someone.  The backs of the frames are cut-outs from what Johanna translates are salt boxes and feature these jolly German chefs.  At one Euro for both, these frames are a steal — and easy to transport.  I intend to hang them face-side out!

The continuing rain pushes us to head for lunch earlier than expected and we are delighted to have a Turkish meal.  After all, it's the closest to Armenian food I'm going to find — and the food at Hasir is unbelievably good.  The pureed eggplant, the lamb, the kuftehs were just delicious — but the dessert — oh my God, the dessert was outstanding.  It was kunefe, a baked concoction of crunchy-sweet shredded wheat, honey-syrup, and nuts, with gooey melted cheese inside — as good as the "kinaffeh" of my childhood.  Sure wish you could've been there...  (Thanks Johanna!)

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