Bologna

I am not sure what preconceived ideas I had about this beautiful city, but they all vastly underestimated the beauty and dignity of this graceful place. After an hour on the high speed train from Verona, we had a leisurely walk to the Piazza Maggiore, lined with colonnades, medieval and Renaissance structures including a rather provocative statue at the Fountain of Neptune. We had reflective hour in the Basilica di San Petronio, a vast Gothic bascilica housing 22 separate art-filled side chapels. From there, to the patio on La Cucina Italiana and a table in the breezeway directly across from the bascilica. There was only one thing to try on the huge menu, their signature dish of tagliatelle al ragu Bolongnese. And fresh cannoli - tiny ones, thank goodness, for dessert. Oh, and a bottle of a light rose. I'll bet I am making you drool, right? It was a very, very special gift from a very special daughter ♥.

20,000 steps and four hours passed very quickly, even in the warmth of a 30 degree day. We wandered back to the train station with plenty of time to spare because we were somewhat wary of an enormous, 3 floor, 30 platform station. Also, we had no idea from where we would depart. In Italy, they like to keep you guessing until about maybe an hour before your departure time. Only then will they post the 'bin' or platform number on a glittering board with a thousand destinations on it. Depending on your bin you then get to play Pacman, taking various elevators or stairs and roaring up and down tunnels and outracing old ladies. It's even more fun when you are hauling a suitcase. But! It turned out to be easy-peasy, platform #1 and our regional train was already waiting for us so we simply took our seats out of the sunshine and enjoyed a slower train ride home. Lots of stops along the way through pretty flat topography, barren fields and empty vineyards already harvested. It seems early to me this year but I am guessing that the terrible heat Italy experienced all August forced an early harvest. Then, back to Porta Nuova station and across the concourse to a thousand bus stop signs, where we figured out where our #11 bus should appear, but had no idea if it would go in the right direction or not. The visually-gifted sibling spotted the bus as it rounded the corner, across the arena, and the directionally-gifted sibling leapt into action, immediately comprehending we were on the wrong side. One short hustle and huff & puff later, we were in our seats and somewhat sure of our direction. It did prove itself out after 20 minutes or so when we rounded a corner and we saw "our" canal, so we knew to get off. But here's the thing. Not all buses (in fact, hardly any) are considerate enough to tell you what bus stops are coming up or even where you're headed. It's a bit toe curling until something of recognition falls into order, like a canal. Because street signs? Not so many of those either. Also, brothers are males and males don't ask directions. Ever. Meh, we made it. Canneloni and whitefish for dinner, the sun is setting, the little air conditioner is working hard to cool us down. It's been a very good day.