Elina in the Cities: Riva del Garda riva del garda sunset (view from our room) So Elina arrived last Friday, as any of you who read the Seige of Troy might know. Now, though, she and I have left Troy in Rome and we're living the lap of luxury at Riva del Garda. To get here we took a 10am train that got us in at 3pm amd then we taxi'd to the hotel. This was after only 4 hours of sleep and then 5 hours of playing poker with Nico on the train. I lost all my money, but Nico was a bit of an Italian shark and he left up more than either of us. We are now at this most amazing quiet lazy lake. The hotel is super fancy and even better because it is free. We have a view that we keep thinking must be a painting because it's just unreal. Big old mountains, wide lake, fresh air, a park at our hotel and a little fountain with ducks and some Italians setting up a table for the relaxed serving of prosecco. Elina and I are finding it all excessively romantic and although we keep trying to fall madly in love, it just hasn't happened yet. we had dinner at a castle! We wandered around the park and down to the lake and then back to the important part: the massage/beauty/fitness center. We chatted with the massage checkin lady for about an hour and tried to figure out how we'd pass our time here. Elina went in for the sampler platter massage tonight. In the morning she gets a special facial and eye treatment while I get an ice leg wrap and then pressure massage. This is, of course, after our free buffet breakfast at the terrace. Then after being massaged we will surely be hungry again and so we'll have some lunch. Finally we'll have more massages and then dinner and more prosecco. It's a really rough life here on Lake Garda and our biggest problem really is the overflow of relaxing things we have to do everyday. Ah, the troubles of modern womanhood. Today's great quotes go like this (except for all the German ones that we don't understand cuz Troy is in Rome and the people here don't speeken-die-English). Upon returning to the room after eating dinner at a castle and then drinking cheap prosseco, it suddenly dawns on us that night has fallen. Our view has disappeared. We demand a rebate. No view, no pay. Whoops. We aren't paying anyway. That's it. The relaxation has set in and our brains have turned off. More later. After the hot stone massage and iced leg wraps and abundance of food. panoramic view from our room The view is back. We opened our eyes and immediately saw it outside our floor length balcony windows. It's like this: hugh amazing mountains across the lake and beyond the Italian trees. A babbling brook down below. Litte birds fluttering by. No other sounds. Except for the wakeup call that signified "time for free food!" Breakfast was classic European buffet, except with eggs and crepes stations. Elina and I ate more than our bodies could handle but that still wasn't enough. By the end we were dipping fingers in nutella packets and Elina was trying to down the whole carafe of coffee (as she couldn't find a way to fit it in her purse.) laura at the spa Next came the massage stuff. I went for the icey leg wrap and pressure therapy and Elina had the sea salt body scrub and then the Cleopatra milk and oil bath. Mine was totally bizarre. I think at some point I actually was abducted by aliens because you just don't see the shit that I saw when you're on this planet. (Or maybe it's just a German thing.) They had me all naked and then rubbed menthol on my legs. Then my legs were all wrapped in damp gauze wraps. Then she had me step into a huge paper pair of pants and then I had to climb aboard the blue air pressure spaceship. She sealed me into the these leg, feet and stomach pressure packages and then attached hoses all over them, connected to a machine with red digitized numbers and some meters. (I think the meters read my sanity level and I was not to be released until that level dropped significantly.) She flipped the switch and then the blue air pressure alien pants starts sucking air in and out and mushing my legs and feet and thighs all over. It was like that blood pressure machine at the doctor but times 50. This went on for so long (she said 35 minutes but I think she put me into a space-time continuum and it was more like 3 days) that I became slightly delirious and figured this must be what happened to all those people who claim they've been abducted by aliens. It isn't really aliens. It's German massage people in the Italian Alps. elina at the spa Elina returned from her treatments and reported similar alien encounters. She met back up with her massage guy, because here the way it works is you get assigned a massage parole officer and you have to report to him every 4 hours. She has become very friendly with hers and is suspicious that he is making more of the naked time than she is. The biggest hint was when he got naked too.. Her parole officer sea salted her, added some oil and vinegar and then washed it all off. (Guess she's not in season.) Then she showered and returned for him to layer cream and milk and sugar and some goop that she wished was coffee all over her. Her layered blankets on her and then the bottom dropped out and she was submerged into a warm bath of water, where she sat and stewed until the broth was just right. (Anyone seen Cocoon?) Then they had her shower and she went into the sauna and, yet again, must have not been ripe enough because nobody ate her. So that was our morning. We're now on a mission to find a late lunch by the pool and then we both have appointments later for more fun. I am getting a hot stone massage and she is having facial treatments. We'll report back! town square Alright. So the hot stone massage was nice, but I am pretty much worn out with all the naked time they have here. It's one thing to be naked in a paper g-string at the massage place with the girl you've paid to massage you doing exactly that. It's another thing to wander out to the "relaxation area" and encounter mobs of naked Germans. I walked in to a blue tiled room with a hottub and a bunch of saunas and specialised showers. This morning it was empty and I was all on my own and quite content to read a German language version of Glamour while contemplating my just-finished alien abduction. Tonight though, everywhere I looked I saw breasts and penises. No wonder the hotel room only has "adult movies" in Italian and English. If you want the German version, it's all free and just downstairs waiting for you. I peaked through the glass into the sauna rooms and tried to find something without a crowd. Finally I opted into the Turkish bath but there were people there too and their utter nakedness made me figure I should at least only wear in my swimsuit. So I went to take off my robe and hang it on a hook outside when a naked German man came out after me from the sauna and beckoned me back in. At that point I felt sort of obligated. I mean, I had seen his penis and everything. The least I could do was go in and sweat with him and his girlfriend for a while. pink sunset This whole naked time thing has made me reflect. It's not that I am a prude. And it's not that I haven't had naked time before at this type of place. It's just never been of this magnitude. Which leads me to my point. I think I am going to stop claiming that I am not a prude. Instead, I think it's time to embrace the reality that maybe I am a prude.. maybe just a little. I mean, I think naked time should be reserved for special occasions. Like showers. Or wedding nights. Or pretend wedding nights. Or just nights when the massage earlier in the day wasn't all that great. Or nights when the wine really was. So that's where I am now with the whole naked German massage resort thing in northern Italy. Don't worry tho. I haven't given up entirely. I have one more massage scheduled and a "solarium" treatment - which is just me trying to prevent the onslaught of pale one last time. More later, ciao! the pool view Yet again I have been a horrible journal correspondent. I left you all out of date with yesterday's activities. Sorry, but I spent all my time - and computer battery power - doing some real writing stuff. That was what I was supposed to do at Riva del Garda but instead I only wrote one chapter. Instead of the six I was supposed to write. Shameful. Yesterday was the final day of our treatments. After our free breakfast we reported to our massage parole officers for duty. This time Elina was given my massage girlfriend and I was given her massage boyfriend. What a crazy world of swinging masseuses they have! And how peculiar is it to think that these people have all seen us naked? That is why they always smile so much when we walk in. They're picturing us naked, like they tell you to do when speaking to strangers, only they actually KNOW what we look like! After three days at Du Lac et du Parc we realised their true business. They are in the business of turning tourists into human versions of Kobe beef. The whole "resort experience" was made up of massaging and filling us with booze. It was just like those cows in Japan. Except that we're not cows. Not yet anyway. And in the end, they didn't eat us. Perhaps they only eat the Germans. We never did see any Germans leave the place.. they just kept coming in... Hrm.... the parc at du lac et du parc hotel Our big hope was that we'd get away without paying for anything at the resort. See the room was free for all three nights because Elina told them she is a travel writer doing stories on Italian vacation spots. Then they didn't take a credit card when we checked in. Then we got turned into Kobe beef. Then we kept rubbing our hands around like little wicked witches and hoping to conjure an escape that would mean avoiding the bill. Unfortunately Elina went downstairs last night for something and while there was handed our bill. In the end it was only 543euros, which isn't so bad considering the whole Kobe beef fees and everything. But it still wasn't as good as free. Today we wokeup and ate more of the yummy buffet breakfast. Elina made friends with the waiter who, like the guy on the train, thought she was from Napoli and so thereby fancied her. She drank much cappucino and I drank much pineapple juice, as was our tradition, and then we decided to be little old ladies and make sandwiches from the free bread and cheese and coldcuts. This was so that on the train back to Rome we wouldn't have to buy anything. We even snatched a few refined napkins to hold our little lunchtime booty. We got away with it too! The final highlight was the grape juice tasting they had at breakfast. It seems that ever since the Hapsburgian era, in the 800s or 900s, people would come to Lake Garda for the "grape cure." This is what we had today at breakfast. It is fair to say that we do indeed feel cured of all our grapes. elina boozin' on the train Now we are sitting in the dining car on the train to Roma. We bought first class tickets but since it wasn't a Eurostar train the first class section was sub-par. This is how we ended up taking over a big table in the dining car for the whole of our 5 hour journey. We've been sitting here drinking wine, playing every version of poker we can think of and gambling with nutella packets (which we've emptied of their inner sweetness), matchsticks and little chicklets of gum. This has made us the hit of the dining car, both because there's nobody else here and because anyone who does stroll through glances at our pile of nonsense and visibly ponders what it is that we crazy American girls are doing. The one thing we have learned that we think we should relay to you is the importance of charades when traveling abroad. Because Elina and I are both fantastic charades players we have been able to communicate with all kinds of people otherwise outside our communicative reach. Of course since we've realised this we've also decided to start making up fake signals to people we don't like and want to intentionally confuse. This provides for great humor to us and a serious look of confusion for them. Despite that, let us give you some things to practice before visiting Lake Garda: bees, fish (i.e. anchovies), gates, poker chips, jolie (which means wild in Italian), gelato, chocolate syrup, and cigarettes. Finally, one last thing to share with you all so that you're not jealous of us too much. At the resort whenever we had to participate in massage naked time they would give us a really comfy green robe, a fresh pair of soft white slippers (with the hotel name stamped on them, of course) and then a very peculiar pair of paper undies. Who ever thought of these foul things must also be the only person in the planet who ever managed to actually relax while wearing them. Stretchy paper string bikini underwear are not a good thing. They don't even hide that much, especially when your masseuse repositions your legs into some peculiar Karate Kid crane position. So, remember, paper undies = bad! We're about to get to Rome and then we have to scamper together, feed my cats and head over to Dario's "International Party." I'm not sure what goes on at an International Party but I have enjoyed saying it over and over again as if it really were something exceptionally fantastic. In reality I bet it's some fascist political party event and Dario is secretly recruiting us Americans to the other side. Well, hey, as long as there's booze, we're in! "So International..." by guest journalist, Elina Back in Rome, after a long and very relaxing trip to Rive La Garda. Frankly, I could have stood a few more days of lounging by the pool and drinking Preseco, which is a cheap but very, very bubbly Champagne like mixture. Although I have to say, I was very happy to finally put a stop to all that insidious massaging. Now I know why the one time I actually had a massage in NY, the women looked at me skeptically an d asked me if I was uncomfortable with her touching me. I clearly was - and still am. It's official, I don't like strangers touching me, maybe it's all that money exchanging hands-seedy... So off we went to the train station, with our overnight bags in tow. Everything went smoothly there - lots of wine drinking, poker playing, and arguing over whether three of a kind really does in fact beat a full house. [Editor's Note: This is how Elina ensures her constant financial victory at poker!] We were groggy from the ride and made our way to the taxi stand, when all of a sudden we were rudely accosted with what sounded a lot like "fuck you" from a disgruntled Italian gypsy cab driver. Just like that! Both shocked and appalled, but unwilling to throw down with the surly oaf of a man, we decided against whacking him with our luggage and instead made our way to the Metro. Once safely enclosed in the confines of Laura's comfy Rome apartment., we had only a few hours to shower and change for what had by now become billed as the "international party." This little gathering was the brainchild of Dario, Laura's new style Italian boyfriend, who trolls expatriate websites looking for young American women to defile. [Editor's Note: Laura has not been defiled, by Dario or anyone else. Yet. Well except for those massage people. But that didn't count.] The idea was for everyone to bring something from their country. But seeing as we were running late, we decided that corn nuts and a bottle of Napa Valley wine would have to do. Meanwhile, Laura was dealing with various intrigues and tragedies that had to do with a former somebody. Having lived with Laura for over a week now, I have realized she has no shortage of former somebodys, who are all equally dramatic and mysterious in their own ways. On this occasion, we were greeted with a rather long letter from the United States. It was all very cryptic and hard to understand, especially since the suitor's writing was a barely legible, tiny scrawl that seemed to run on forever. Even though I'm not prone to snooping, I read the letter and discovered that Laura had made herself susceptible to all kinds of insinuations, accusations, and a lot of jibber jabber about something that really didn't add up to much. All I could think about was the wasted paper and all the poor trees that were cut down each year to feed their mutual taste for high drama. Still, I couldn't help feeling bad for the gentleman, at which Laura promptly accused me of taking his side in the matter. And although I wasn't leaning any which way, I did sympathize with him and chastised Laura for being such an emotional brute. [Editor's Note: Laura is not an emotional brute.] Finally, with all the drama behind us, we got dressed and began our trek for the international party. Seeing that we didn't have any American wine, we stopped in an Italian wine bar to remedy the problem and bumped into a rather jovial gentleman, Bernard, from New Zealand who insisted we sit down with him and taste some of the best wine Italy had to offer. As it turns out, he and Laura had oodles in common. Not only was he from New Zealand (near Australia, where Laura used to live), he had a house in Florida (where Laura grew up), and worked as a magician/comedian in Vegas (which Laura can't do without). After sharing a brief but amusing repartee, we pled lateness and were on our way to the international party. Although we suspected as much, the international party wasn't very "international." As it turned out, it was mainly Americans with a smattering of four or five Italians who cursed themselves at having the bad luck to be stuck with a bunch of non-Italian speakers. And as they tried to make themselves intelligible to us, speaking what little English they knew, we comfortably sat back and watched them struggle to communicate, not even making the occasional effort to say something in Italian - save for a few half-hearted efforts to play charades. Oh well, everyone knows Americans are evil! Finally, after a long night of not drinking and my incessant demands that everyone admit they really do hate Americans, we sat around for a bit, while everyone shuffled out of the not-so-international party. Laura, who had just finished 3 shots of rum was confused, since she thought the party was getting started. [Editor's Note: The Dice Man made Laura drink those 3 shots. She would never do that of her own willing. Tequila, maybe. But certainly not rum.] But it wasn't, and at 1 a.m. all the good Italians left to go home. Not being ready or able to walk very well, Laura demanded that Dario make her some cheese, and he obliged, after which we all exchanged pleasantries about film, books, art, and some other subjects of which we had no knowledge. [Editor's Note: Laura is always able to walk, even after 3 shots of rum. It's the Irish in her. And she would never demand cheese. It was kindly offered and, as everyone knows, a smart girl never refuses an offer of cheese. And, finally, Laura has much knowledge on all of those topics, particularly after 3 shots of rum.] At last, it was off to bed for me in my new comfy room, which thanks to Troy's departure, I now have all to myself! It's Saturday afternoon and Elina is off doing her rounds of sightseeing. She's opted to take the 110 tour bus. She says she prefers to do drive-bys of famous stuff and so that's what she's off doing. As for me, I paid some bills and am procrastinating writing another chapter of my book. Will do that in a moment though. dinner with bernard Last evening was a calm night out. We went grocery shopping so that we'd have some food for the poker dinner party we're throwing tomorrow night. Then we got dressed and went up to La Barrique, the wine bar up the street, to meet Bernard, the New Zealand comedian, for another fancy glass of wine and some fine conversation. After our glass we went across the street to "the mushroom restaurant" as I call it. That's where they have the super yummy mushroom, truffles and cream pasta, along with the 1 liter of red wine for 5.50euros. No "Uncle Junior" this time though. Bernard was very happy to keep the conversation flowing while we stuffed our faces with lots of Italian food. At the end he introduced Elina to the joys of chocolate tartufo covered in espresso. She has declared that her favorite part of Italy so far. After much chatting with Bernard, we let him go back to his hotel so that he could catch his cruise ship to Greece today. As I said, tomorrow we are trying to host a poker dinner party. Unfortunately there seems to be some big Catholic holiday going on because all the Italians have migrated down to Napoli for the weekend to see their families. Dario is there. Antonio is there. Even my landlady Annalisa is there. So it could end up being just Elina and I at our poker dinner party. Maybe we'll go see La Traviata later tonight. How cultural of us! Did any of you honestly believe we would end up at La Traviata? a confrontation between elina and paul Elina returned from her journey sightseeing and, surprise, the sights she saw were all shopping stores! She made many a fine purchase and celebrated by doing a full fashion show for me. After that we got a phone call from Paul, the crazy Australian friend of Dario's. We invited Paul to join us for sushi around the corner and so he did. It was a good thing too because Elina had some very specific ways she wanted her sushi prepared and we needed Paul's limited Italian to help make clear our requests. After dinner, and loads and loads of sake, we went up to La Barrique and had a "digestif." For Elina and I, that meant a bottle of prosecco. For Paul, it was some other foul strong liquor thing. Of course all this drinking and the combination of Paul and Elina, who don't necessarily love one another with a passion quite yet, lead to lots of heated ugly debates about all those taboo topics. Fortunately everyone escaped relatively unscathed although I admit to being afraid for my safety, and sanity, at some points. elina at trevi Sunday was the day of our big poker dinner party. As of Sunday morning we were confirmed that it would be a repeat performance of the night before, with only Paul and Elina and I in attendance. With such little expectation built up, Elina and I started the day by touring some more of Rome's sights. (The bus doesn't drive-by everything.) We strolled up to Quirinale and took a tour of the President's Palace. I've never seen Quirinale open before for tourist visits and so since it was just as we passed by, I opted us in to checking it out. As usual, it included a lot of rooms with gold guilding, chandeliers, extra large vases and other fancy presidental palace type stuff. We wanted to take lewd pictures inside for the journal, but they had daunting guards with big horn and hair hats spotting us in every room. Blame them for the lack of lewd pictures, not us. Next we wandered to the Fontana di Trevi where Elina did the traditional "coins in the fountain" thing. After that we went up to the Puma store so I could buy a pair of sneakers. Despite the dice roll at the International Party, I decided not to buy red shoes and the dice instructed but got a pair of black and pink ones. Very Laura and, I think, rather Italian. I also needed an overnight bag for our trip to Florence so I grabbed the absolutely best over night bag ever from Puma as well. After that we strolled over to the Pantheon and I showed Elina the occulus, after grabbing a quick pineapple gelato. (I always brake for pineapple gelato.) Finally exhausted, we strolled home and rested before our big party. caprese on a stick The amazing thing about my Italian friends is that they are just like my American pals. At the last couple hours just about everyone we invited over gave a last minute RSVP. This is how our party went from an intimate gathering of three to a max-capacity party of seven. On the menu: caprese salad on a stick, greek olives on a stick, breadsticks (already on a stick) and then a pasta of pesto, gorgonzola and porcini mushrooms. While that sounds like a lot of food, it actually proved to be a little sparse considering all the drinks everyone had. I will blame this on Paul's friend Kitty who brought us a drinking game from Iceland to play. It was all a lot of fun, but I definitely did not eat enough and I definitely drank too much. I think the same was true for everyone else too. At the end of the evening all the good Italians left around 1am but Dario, as is his traditional, stayed and went head-to-head with Elina and I at poker. Turns out Dario is an Italian poker shark! He totally won all our money! Well, more of Elina's than mine.. but still. He walked out up and we went to bed down. I actually didn't mind though.. was nice not to lose more money to Elina. Of course, I'd prefer not to lose money to anyone.. but we'll work on that. Monday we went to Florence. You'll have to read about that on the next page. << back to where it all began... Content & Photos © 2004 Laura Laytham, laura@girlsaresmarter.com.