Martini Time in Milano.

I was surprised by the lack of street art in both Greece and Italy. Tags everywhere, but almost no actual art. 

Then I saw this in Milan.

Milan has a different vibe than either Rome or Florence. To me, Rome is sort of hang-loose, but in a semi-arrogant way that reflects its power, past and present. "I'm the center of the Italian universe, so I don't need to sweat the small stuff." Florence has a much more artistic feeling. "I'm the center of arts and culture. You can admire my beauty if you like."

Milan is all business. "Those other cities can bask in their pretensions, I get shit done."

Central Milan is centered around the huge, elaborate Duomo.

It has many spires, on which various saints are precariously perched.

And, of course, there are gargoyles.

And then there's the Wall of Dolls. It's a tribute to Italian women victimized by misogynistic violence. 

La Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, Milan's extremely upscale shopping mall, has inspired malls around the world.

It's also known as Milan's drawing room. 

Built between 1865 and 1877, it hosts most of the world's most prestigious name brands, as well as several classic Milano eateries, some of which have been open since the place was built.

Luciya wanted to go to the ossuary in Milan. We hadn't had time to visit the catacombs in either Rome or Paris, so this was her last chance to satisfy her bones jones.

The Church of San Bernardino alle Ossa was built around an older church and cemetery. The cemetery dates to 1145. In 1210, the boneyard ran out of room for bones, so an ossuary was built to house the overflow. A church was attached in 1269, destroyed by fire in 1712, and the present church was constructed in 1776.

There are thousands of bones stacked willy-nilly in huge bins. Some have been used for decoration.

Definitely Luciya's kind of place.

Also Luciya's kind of place: Starbucks. She wanted to visit a Starbucks in every country. I know, I know, friends don't let friends go to Starbucks, but I'm sure there's a granddaughter exception, especially since she doesn't often drink coffee, and didn't in any of the locations we visited.

So she was especially excited to see there was a Starbucks Reserve Roastery in Milan. There are only six in the world: New York, Chicago, Tokyo, Shanghai, Milan, and of course Seattle.

The Milan branch is huge and shiny. The whole place smells delightfully of roasting coffee beans.

There's even a full bar upstairs for cocktails and snacks, so we were forced to stop and refresh ourselves with well-made martinis.

Because even the no-nonsense Milanese know when it's martini time.

We rose at 3:30 am to catch a cab to the airport. The sun was just rising as we boarded our plane to Paris.

We stayed in Paris one night, then flew to Seattle, and thence home to Boise. Luciya's first European adventure was over. We are so grateful that we got to spend a month with her discovering Greece and Italy. 

P.

In Firenze with Il Porcellino.

Firenze (Florence) is a beautiful city with a complex history. Our AirB&B was across the Arno from downtown in a quiet neighborhood with few tourists. The building was well over 150 years old, but our apartment was nicely renovated with plenty of room for all of us. The only drawback was that we were on the third floor (fourth in American terms) and there was no elevator.

We tried to pack as lightly as possible, but two months in both hot and cool climates meant we were carrying a couple of heavy suitcases. Still, we managed.

The weather had cooled delightfully since we left Rome--mid-seventies with occasional drizzle. Perfect for walking. And with the main tourist areas only a 25-minute walk away, we put in a lot of steps.

The center of town was packed with tourists. We took in the Duomo and the statue of David.

In the same museum, there was a large collection of pre-Renaissance religious art. I like this early art better than that of the famous Renaissance painters.

And I'm amused by the amount of side-eye being slung by the minor figures. They all look as it they are either plotting something or are suspicious of the others plotting against them.

And of course no journey to Firenze can be complete without a quick rub of the snout of Il Porcellino for good luck. 

The continually-changing cloudscapes over the river made for some great photos.

I discovered a new favorite gin, apparently made with the blessings of Il Porcellino himself.

Of course, Firenze's most famous contribution to cuisine isn't pork at all, but the massive Florentine steak. So we made reservations at Regina Bistecca, rated the 19th best steakhouse in the world.

The steak is cut from the sirloin of a steer or heifer of the Chianina breed. The smallest is a kilogram and is traditionally cooked rare with salt and pepper. Huge, simple, and delicious.

Served sliced for a minimum of two people, the flavor of the meat needs no additional condiments. 

And afterwards there's the view over the Arno to cap a short, but lovely visit.

P.

Rome Burns, Even Without Nero Fiddling.

Rome, of course, needs no introduction. It's the Eternal City, the place to which all roads lead, home to some very friendly seagulls.

We found a large, comfortable apartment on the western outskirts of Trastevere, about a 30-minute tram ride from downtown. It is a neighborhood of medium-rise apartment buildings, with restaurants and public transportation nearby.

Most importantly, it had air-conditioning. Rome was just beginning a mini heatwave when we arrived. In the four days we were there, the temperature went from 89 to 103. And the high humidity made it seem even hotter.

Rome is not a great town for food diversity, though it is improving. Still, most restaurants offer minor variations on the same menu. There are the four classic pastas--cacio e pepe, carbonara, gricia, and amatriciana--the last three featuring one of my favorite foodstuffs, guanciale (cured pork jowls).

They also love dishes based on offal, especially tripe.

And then there's another of my favorites, porchetta--a skin-on pork shoulder stuffed (usually) with garlic, fennel seed, and rosemary, slow-roasted until there skin is crispy and the inside is juicy and flavorful.

Romans want what they want. and what they want hasn't changed for a very long time. Done well, the cuisine is truly delicious, but after a while, to us, it becomes a a bit too monotonous.

Since Luciya had not been to Rome, we took in the major tourist sights.

I never tire of the Colosseum. We did however get tired of our guide, an Italian woman who spoke very rapidly in an annoying voice with a very heavy accent. I could understand less than half of what she was saying. It was also around 95 degrees, so we were having difficulty staying hydrated, much less cool.

Still, the place is imposing, an amazing piece of architecture, a feat of engineering, and a horrifying monument to human cruelty. 

The games were free to all. They were paid for by aspiring politicians eager to win the votes of bloody-minded sports fans.

Over a million people and several million animals were killed in the arena in the name of entertainment. Arena means sand in Latin; the sand that was spread on the wooden floor of the Colosseum to absorb the blood. Truly a killing field of unsurpassed magnitude.

Next to the Colosseum is the Palatine Hill and the House of Augustus Caesar, a peaceful refuge between the violence of the Roman games and the political machinations of the Forum.

I have always loved these umbrella pines. To me they are as much a symbol of Rome as the wolf that suckled Romulus and Remus. I found out, however that they are actually a rather recent addition to the Roman skyline. Mussolini planted over 2,000 of them in the 1930s, and they have been ubiquitous here ever since. Probably the most enduring remnant of the Fascist regime.

At this point, several groups of people, including us, left the tour. The heat and the mostly incomprehensible narration did us in. We exited through the Forum, almost too tired and overheated to appreciate its ruined splendor.

Seeking someplace to seat and drink, we ran into a large, loud demonstration. We think it was against the current right-wing government, but we couldn't be sure.

The Victor Emmanuel II monument on Capitoline Hill commemorates the first king go unified Italy. Very grandiose in the Roman manner.

The temperature was headed for 103 on the day we visited St. Peter's. The place was filled with tourists, and the line to get into the Vatican Museums and the Sistine Chapel stretched completely around the vast square. Waiting for hours in the sun with high heat and humidity was not on our agenda, so we moved on.

We found some charming neighborhoods that offered a modicum of shade and air-conditioned shops. It was still bloody hot, but a bit more bearable.

The next day, the temperature dropped by about ten degrees, but by then we were on the train to Firenze.

P.

The Mad Monks of Meteora.

Next stop, Thessaloniki, the second largest city in Greece. Since Luciya loves Greek and Roman mythology, we wanted to visit the area around Mt. Olympus. Thessaloniki is close to the fabled home of the gods.

In fact, there it is, right across the bay.

Our AirB&B was right on the main square, about five blocks from the ocean.

It was a great location with lots of restaurant, including a place with all the gyros. Delicious!

After discussing our options, Luciya decided that rather than visiting Mt. Olympus, she wanted to do an all-day trip to the monasteries of Meteora.

So the next morning we boarded the bus at 8:00am, bound for the domain of the Mad Monks.

I was concerned that they might be especially mad at me because they require long pants for visitors, and I refuse to wear long pants all day in 95 degree weather for a two-hour visit with a bunch of judgey monks. Luckily, the tour guide had us covered. Literally. He passed out slip-on pants to the men and long skirts and shawls to the women. Naughty knees and shoulders modestly hidden, we were ready to meet the monks.

And we were able to get a good view of Mt. Olympus on our way. It's the one with notch in the background.

As we approached Meteora, we got a good look at the dramatic rock formations that inspired the monks to climb and build. There were originally 24 monasteries perched on these rocks; only six remain. Built between the 13th and 14th centuries, they are an amazing tribute to the tenaciousness and construction skills of the monks, as in those days there were no roads to transport building materials to the top of those rocky spires, just ropes and pulleys and donkeys.

The first monastery we visited is actually a convent. That's a relatively recent development. St. Stephen's monastery was built somewhere between 1400-1500. Like all the other monasteries of Meteora, it was all male until the nuns took it over in 1961.

The inside of the chapel is lavishly painted in Eastern Orthodox style. I missed the sign that forbids photos and video and got one picture before Luciya pointed out the watch nun reaching for her ruler.

The monastery has sweeping views of the plains of Thessaly, and we were lucky enough to have a very clear day on which to appreciate them.

The nuns definitely have green thumbs. The grounds are beautifully maintained, with lots of flowers and mature shade trees.

The whole area is insanely picturesque.

I was so taken by this painting that I broke the no-photos rule and snuck a shot while the nuns were inspecting other visitors for dress code violations. Later I worried that scofflaws like me might be just the kind to be pushed off the ladder to paradise and cast into the jaws of the hell-beast. But I got over it.

The vertical rock in the left center is called the Finger of God. Was He/She actually giving me the finger for my impious ways? 

The rocks are riddled with caves that in times past were home to a legion of hermit monks too ascetic to mingle in the monastic communities nearby.

After the monastery tours, we stopped at a local restaurant for an unexpectedly delicious lunch, then made our way back to Thessaloniki.

We passed a random 13th century castle on the way.

Back in Thessaloniki, the square in front of our apartment was filled with protesters. Some were protesting the war in Gaza, others more local issues.

There was also a fairly large and well-armed police presence. Luckily, it all ended peacefully.

On Saturday evening, we joined the throngs on the seaside promenade. The temperature was moderated by a soft ocean breeze.

The White Tower was constructed soon after the Ottomans captured the port in 1430 as part of the city's fortifications. It's now a museum.

The Roman emperor Galerius had this triumphal arch and the neighboring Rotunda constructed in the 4th century AD. In a city filled with graffiti tags, they remain unmarked.

We were amazed at the amount of graffiti tags everywhere in Greece. Unlike most cities we've visited in other countries, there is very little street art, but almost every building is covered with tags.

After Thessaloniki, we returned to Athens for one last night before our flight to Rome. We had dinner at the Stork Rooftop Bar in the Niche Hotel. The food and drinks were excellent, but the view was even better.

 P.