"Fly and Beach B&B"

Our “month” in Italy this year was actually only 19 days, as Fred has a teaching gig with an organization called Urban Sketchers. It has taken him to Symposiums in Barcelona, Brazil, and Manchester, England. I’ve tagged along to all but Barcelona.

This year, it’s Porto, Portugal, where we’ll stay from Thursday to Sunday, and then train down to Lisbon for another five nights. We’re calling it out 25th anniversary trip. We did travel to Portland, ME, for that actual celebration — not knowing if Fred’s proposal would be accepted. So, we’re celebrating again.

We left Viterbo Wednesday, said goodbye to our landlord (whose baby I met the other day and she is precious), our wine guy Pietro (and his father), packed up our three big boxes of stuff we leave in Italy, brought it over to the school for storage, and headed for Rome. Once at the airport, we returned the car and taxied to a B&B on the beach just a 13-minute drive. Our flight on Thursday is at 6:15 am — hence, the idea of staying locally.

First, the cab experience was positively heinous. We’ve been trained to say no to all these guys who swarm you when you come out, mostly because we usually go with the group on a bus. But also because they are crooks and charge a flat fee (a fee typical of a fare to Rome) even to go ten minutes down the road. We got given a terrible run around, and finally ended up at a van with an irate English woman and her quiet husband, bargaining with this driver. She kept telling him, “You’re thievin,’ you know! That’s wha it is! You’re thievin’!  You’re a thief, that’s wha you are!!!”  At home there’s some kind of unwritten rule (I think) that cab drivers win some and lose some. Sometimes you get big long trips, anmkd sometimes you get short trips. But at the Rome airport, they all band together and say, “No, this is the line for Rome cabs. You need to go over there to those vans. Those are for local trips. So you get over there and they tell you it’s 35 euro flat fee. First they suggested we get more people and share it and THEN they said it’s PER person. A total run around. So disheartening to have to end like that. In the end, we paid 25 euro and a very nice woman took us in her huge van down the street.

The Fly and Beach B&B was exactly as we expected, having read all the Trip Advisor reviews. We arrived around 3:00 and were greeted by our host. Very nice guy. Clean room, great AC (what a treat!), and right across from the sea.  We took a long walk on the beach, which is right near the airport, naturally, so we found it kind of cool to watch the plans, and whipped our heads up every time one came by, while not one other soul ever looked to the sky. 

Tiniest pool out our window!
 

I guess this is their version of Revere Beach --- assuming the flight patterns go over there, too? Anyway, nobody seems to notice.
 

We went all the way out past her as she slept in her prime spot. 

Her hand would twitch once in a while, but other than that, no signs of life. 

Malibu Beach? Is that Brad Pitt? 

They kill it in the beach toy department here. 

As I write this, I’m sitting next to Fred on the plane to Porto while he listens to a podcast about the life of bats. Could two people possibly be more different???  He offered one of his earbuds to me :)

We’re on the plane with Denmark’s women’s basketball team. At least that’s what their shirts say. It’s making me crazy hearing the Danish and not knowing it anymore… it’s truly painful. I wish they weren’t hear. Or would just stop talking. 

Back to the beach. After the long walk, Fred and I parted ways. I, to a beach bar with my laptop, Fred to the streets with his sketchbook. I had a virgin pina colada. Long story, no idea why. It was CRAZY pleasant. The bartender looked a lot like my son’s friend Adam (who is of Italian descent). I showed him a pic of Adam on FB and he cracked up. He showed his co-worker who said, I didn’t know you were so smart (because it was Adam’s graduation pic) and then I showed him a hockey photo and he said, “Everything I’ve never done, he’s done for me! I used to love to skate!”  A little sad, actually, but he was a very happy guy. And adorable. :) 

Back at the B&B at 6, we showered and dressed for drinks on the beach (same place — another place we tried had very loud American music, and the seating was all behind the structure, not with a view of the beach. What up with that???). It was, again, crazy pleasant. 

Then we walked over to where I’d made a reservation to eat — having learned about it on Trip Advisor. When I made the reservation, the guy tried to end the conversation three times before I was ready. First, after I asked for a reservation he said Ciao, but I wanted to tell him what time. He seemed not to care.  Ciao Ciao Caio. Then I wanted to sit outside. Ciao ciao ciao ciao ciao. It was nuts and I was worried he was a grouch, but we never saw him and the waitress was very nice. I had a whole fish. Fantastic. And we shared fried calamari. And Fred got pizza. She said, “You’re gonna need two tables for all this food,” and then we didn’t finish the app (calamari) and told her we were getting on a plane in the am and couldn’t bring it home and she said, “Why did you order so much then??”  We felt like idiots! 

There was one very odd table where there was a professional photographer taking photos of the two guys at the table. One was really old and frail, with his cane in front of him the whole time, sticking up. The guy shot him just dead on, looked dead serious. The other guy was huge, with a growth on his upper lip. He shot him EATING. So weird. I asked the waitress if they were famous but she said no.

At the end of the night, we found out they only took only cash, so I said I’d be right back with cash, and she said she’d take a card. I asked if we could put a tip on the card, and she said yes, how much? I said three and she seemed unimpressed… oy…. Sorry, Italy! It’s been real!

How's that Do Not Enter sign working out for you? 

My dinner.

Ciao, La Panzanella! 

Just landed in Porto :)