Reichels Get Busy Livin – Family Travel Story

A Tribute

Aidan

It is pure joy to see the young man you are becoming and we love being with you. This trip has been a crazy-accelerated time of growth and watching you grow up has been so fun. Your enthusiasm for life is infectious. Your genuine kindness is such a refreshing gift to others and a reminder of who you really are. I hope you will always embrace these qualities and accept that you are a good, good person.

We have loved watching you grow into a great traveler and although it is bitter sweet that our group adventure is now over, you will continue this inner journey. It’s true that we can’t wait for the next trip with you but more than that, it will be so rewarding to see you evolve along life’s journey. I have wished for my kids to have curiosity and to be students of life, questioning, seeking, discovering. There is humility in our smallness and a thrill in our greatness and I celebrate your journey along that exciting edge. Combined with your natural kindness, it will be exciting to see how you navigate. (Mom thought: Be sure to journal along the way;)

Thank you for being exactly who you are. You make life better. We love having you in our lives and can’t wait to see how you grow from here. We love you!

June 9, Sweet big brother. What lay ahead is beyond our wildest dreams and you are up for the adventure.

This fountain tells of a legend of Orin’s daughter, representing the expansion of Denmark in the Middle Ages, rich with symbolism and drama. Aidan saw the snake in it all.

Yoko Ono art installation, inviting everyone to make a wish for peace and tie it to a branch in an urban grove of trees. Deep and private moment. Then, 10 paces later, we discovered Street Food and had a culinary explosion on the pier.

Bikes in Copenhagen. Riding through the park cemetery of Soren Kierkegaard, Niels Bohr and others. Enriching our minds…maybe.

A special ability to get things all over your face, as a matter of routine.

Hiking around Neuschwanstein Castle, southern Germany.

I see a little, little Aidan in this photo. Like the timelessness of temperament and personality, this expression has been yours from the beginning. Hiking to a river gorge outside Garmisch.

We are so impressed with your growing thoughtfulness as a big brother. It’s very natural for you and a gift to our family. Keep it up.

At the Jungfraujoch. What a cool experience, not the shopping mall but the majesty of the glaciers and the peak. Note the fannypack, an emerging piece of identity. Socks would become a thing later in the trip, this is a foreshadowing. The accidental balance of the yellow on the wall, the Barca jersey and the socks make me smile – the visual balance of this photo and of the spirit of the young man emerging.

Top of the Italian/Swiss border, awaiting the Bernina Express. Aidan’s pack is one of his favorite things. “Snazzy.”

Leaving Castle Pergine, making our way to Croatia.

Croatia! Dubrovnik, old city. Mandzukic jersey is awesome … and eye-popping.

Favorite hat, purple bow tie, fanny pack – your own funky style. Marching to the beat of your own fashion drum. LOVE IT, babe!

Last night on Vis. You took it upon yourself to dress for the special evening.

Drying in the sun. We notice your need for little bits of solitude. Banje Beach, Dubrovnik.

Komiza, Vis Island. Contemplative moment.

We heard that an abandoned sardine cannery had a great dock for swimming. How many crazy jumps did you do? One of my favorite photos. Such a big leap into crazy blue water.

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Goin Home

Not a great family photo or even an acceptable LAST family photo for such an epic experience as this, but we were distracted with the process of getting home and missed the ceremonial significance of one last photo, a bookend to our first photo on the porch. Maybe it’s poetic this way. It captures it all. It is 3:00am. On this trip, the majority of photos are taken by me but usually I’m in it somehow- my shadow or my bag is there somewhere. In this one my pack isn’t even in the photo because it’s on my back. Collected in line, we were standing together but a bit stunned. We were goin home, but we were faced with the possibility that we might not be going home as planned.

This is the line that took an hour and forty-five minutes. The first fortyfive minutes we moved 25 feet. The line makes a turn to the left up there, disappearing into the abyss. It was the line to check-in. Online check-in was not working for us, and apparently everyone else as it turned out, so we knew we’d have to get checked in at the counter before our 6am flight. Not a big deal. Or not too much of a big deal. That is until we learned last night that the airport security workers are currently on strike, suggesting travelers should be at the airport three hours in advance of departure. Ok, 3 am, it is. Well, it should have been 4 hours in advance.

Oh. My. Gurd. That is a sea of humanity.

This was the line for security. I use the term line loosely. This is only the part that would fit in the frame. THIS is the security line at an airport where there is a strike, not your garden variety, but rather the kind of security line that is in the verge of becoming an angry, sleepless mob. We haven’t experienced this exactly before… hmm, something new for the trip. It appears the new experiences can legally keep happening until you actually get home.

Well, it was dicey but it worked out. Later we would experience another “something new” by way of the Paris airport. That’s something. There also narrowly missing our flight.

Maybe this is the last photo I was seeking this morning.

Homage to our baggage.

There they go, our appendages. Actually, I see Aidan’s bag has already slid down the beltway. They look so small in this photo, different from how huge they feel on our backs and in our hands. Last time they’ll be assembled on this trip, lined up like little well-behaved circus trick dogs, waitig for the next showtime. Tricks performed daily were small and mighty, death- defying and magical. Thank you, little friends.

Sicily

Leaving Rome. We survived the taxi ride to the airport and took that as an omen.

Through our travels we met others who loved Sicily, who had great memories and recommendations there, which confirmed our interest. But it appears that there’s a sort of a spectrum in experiencing Italy, as I see it; a grab-the-handlebars way and an I’ll-sit-in-the-backseat way. Sicily is the former; it requires both hands. To steer. Or hang on.

Apart from whatever the situation would be with Sicily, our Week Eight had a certain weight to it that we hadn’t realized. So close to the end. We wanted a sort of passive experience (backseat, not handlebars) after the previous weeks, but hadn’t figured that out until we landed in Palermo and drove around. It was the sound of the needle skidding across the record.

Sicily is not a passive sort of experience. In fact, it took a team approach, full faculties, wide awake.

To be fair, we are rookies, first of all. I say that because it is true – mostly – and it’s appropriate to be humble. Secondly, you see any place differently when you arrive through its airport. It requires a bit more patience before the spirit of a place can present itself. For example, to visit the beautiful Santa Fe, New Mexico, one lands in Albuquerque and then drives through the not-best part of northern New Mexico for an h-o-u-r before reaching magical Santa Fe. Train, bus or ferry terminals are typically centrally located in cities, they have to be. A few blocks and one is oriented to the spirit of the destination. Great. The drive from an airport armpit, however, can be a drain on ones sensibilities, right?

Since Rick Steves chose to omit Sicily entirely from his Italy guide book, (Rick, why?) we arrived vague on specifics and apparently off-message a bit. I could say that not having a huge plan is a testament to our trust at this point in the trip and a testament to our growing travel confidence. What that actually means is we were unprepared. Armpit. Handlebars. Whatever. We just wanted to sit by the beach, frankly, soak it all in, not have to work too hard.

The drive from the airport to our apartment felt like Cuba, or what I’ve seen of Cuba in photos. The gps took us on streets where we nearly got wedged, even after the side mirrors were pulled in. Streets weren’t marked. Weeds growing. Trash blowing. Buildings chipping. It had a distinctly neglected feel (armpit). It was going to require a bit of effort to find the Magic Sicily. This was going to transform us from rookie status if we were going to squeeze a rabbit out.

We had only a rental car, an Airbnb guest house and a week.

As it turns out, we fell in love with much of Sicily and met very special people, kind and authentic human beings, and experienced such richness in Sicily. We needed time and patience.

The hidden oasis of our sweet and enchanting little Airbnb house. The green gate opens to the crazy, gritty and bedroom suburb of Tomaso Natale. Behind me is paradise. The host family is growing a cornucopia of flowers and vines, citrus and fruit trees, grapes, swans, chickens, turtles, donkeys, a goat, an adorable little doggie who likes to terrorize the chickens, a pool, a hammock, should I go on? Our host, Arianna, is a sublime reminder of a calm and gracious spirit. She is a lovely embodiment of a beautiful human being and especially the likes of which one relies upon traveling far from home.

Taken from the loft. Slider doors open out to the property and gardens.

Palermo has a crown of mountains ringing it, keeping the climate pretty constant and the landscape visuals picturesque. The old town and epicenter is layered with centuries of influence and occuption from the Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Arabs and Spanish. Moorish, Baroque and Art-Nouveau architectural accents are mashed-up, surprising and eye-popping in the old towns of Sicily’s main cities.

In the late 1800’s a Belgian company came to implement a trolley system in Palermo when the city was at a particular lavish time. Inevitably, the city ran out of money so in order to pay their debt the Belgians were given a portion of land by the sea to develop, as compensation. They did a beautiful job developing and managing it for all these years. Today this neighborhood, Mondelo, has the read and feel of a Northern European seaside town. As an example of the cultural layering, Palermo has many Northern Europeans seasonally and permanently.

The Mondelo area is a part of Sicily with gated single-family villas, large even by today’s standards, tree-lined streets and shade trees ringing the gentrified beach. Today, the majority of Sicilians live in condo style housing so the walled and gated garden-like villas are quite unusual, so is the hunting park turned public park and arboretum.

Sicily is populated with a uniquely independent people. They are aware of their history. They are proud of being Sicilian. The mafia is very real here. Tourism is too but no one really falls over in the service of a tourist. In a way, that’s refreshing, if not a bit of a warning: Sure, come to Sicily, we believe it’s beautiful – you will too – but we don’t need you.

For example, it is important to remember when beckoning a police officer for a question about parking that one must not use hand gestures in any manner, no matter how innocent or sincere one may appear or believe themself to be. Have you heard about hand gestures in Italy? Have you heard about hand gestures in Sicily? May we live to make it to the airport tomorrow.

Agriculture on the inside, beaches dotting the coast, scattered archeological ruins and novelties. An old blownout volcano crater and one still very active volcano, shape the topography. Seems appropriately gritty. Drought has plagued all of Italy but nowhere has felt it longer or more intensely than on the island of Sicily, according to Sicilians. There is a sense of pride here knowing they and their crops have the fortitude to endure such things better than Rome.

We learned that Palermo has the third largest opera house in all of Europe, after Paris and Vienna. In fact they have a varsity and jv opera house, both a few blocks from each other. Opera, it turns out, is important in Sicily. And they want you to know that it is.

CEFALU

Same beach after 7 pm. Only a few less umbrellas. Almost the same number of bodies.

Cefalu piazza and Duomo, built in early 1100’s.

Byzantine floor mosaics installed on gold underlayment. This is a replica, I’m sure, the originals are in a museum. The bones and crowns of two popes, which graham found on display, were both exciting and weird. Not sure. About Graham or the catholic tradition of making relics out of bones. What is it with the proof of human remains and early Christianity? Don’t answer that.

Graham’s photo. Pope Something the Something, femurs, tibias, clavicle and crown… we believe you. With the matching painted portrait that hung above this display it was made even more creepy. No offense. The smaller the Italian town the less signage and printed information. All we can guess is Sicily sent one or two native sons to the papacy. You can be sure they got more out of the deal than these “relics” in return.

Road trip. Heading to overnight on the other side of Sicily. Look at all that room. Happy faces – this, obviously, was taken at the beginning of the drive. 36 hours later, on our way back home, when we are weakly navigating a mishmash of rural road construction in the dark with Sicilian Highway Department markers (not), the spirit and the air was not as light.

Old volcano. This actually shows nearly an entire ring of the remaining crater.

Current volcano. Mt. Etna, active but in nap status, definitely not dormant, with her continuous puff of smoke. Seriously.

SIRACUSA

Deciding to road trip was a little bit of an admission of defeat. We were going to forfeit the fantasy week of sitting at the beach in order to discover Sicily, a departure from the relaxing-in-the-backseat mindset we had wanted. We are so glad we drove the three-and-a-half hours to the opposite corner of the island to Siracusa.

Siracusa is a breezy and sunny, old European/Mediterranean town with castles and Greek ruins turned Roman ruins turned cathedrals. The ruins are stacked and leaning in amongst the renaissance, neoclassical and contemporary structures. Their 1200th century cathedral, for example, was built right ontop and wrapped around a Greek temple from 500bc.

Cathedral. Built on and amongst a Greek temple from 500bc

Looking out to the south- I don’t think that’s called the Mediterranean right there.

Greek ruins, walking from the parking garage. Hey, ruins.

This thing was kinda uneventful, it was built in 13th century. So yesterday. Castle to protect the tip of Sicily from marauders. I think parts of Europe will begin a certain fortification against modern day marauders, tourists, soon.

Cool shady spot in the castle when we were sweltering. How’d these guys do it in armor?

Castle as seen from the old town. They dumped a lot of big chunks of stone in the water to slow the marauders. Now there is great snorkeling here.

We really enjoyed their little aquarium. Couple of tanks, like being in Ben Morales’s room. I think Ben’s room is way cooler but we give props to them for committing. The most memorable thing is the litter of kittens that born in the space behind the blue neon letters “Aquarium.” I have a better photo of them looking all worldly and bat-like in their little kitten cat-attitude. You can barely make out the ears under the A and M. At first, there were 5 lounging on the ledge. That didn’t sound great. I don’t mean there WERE 5 before something happened to them. They just went inside their neon sign house because they were bored with us. The aquarium people said they’ve never been down yet. What a shock that will be.

Near the Siracusa street market – only place the locals shop for anything – we see a bunch of big burley dudes sitting in crates and buckets in the street with these piles of … sea urchins! Are those black urchins that sting? You can barely see the license plate of one of the two cars he’s sitting between. Couldn’t do this at the kitchen table? I took a picture of this guy, one, because he didn’t look like the angry-urchin-gutting kind of guy and, two, because I was sure he didn’t see me; but that means you can’t see his work area. They are cutting the urchins in half, scooping out the drooly orange urchin guts into Dixie cups, as many as will fit, and saving the empty half-a-urchin shell in a pile. Tedious work, and for what? No, I did not ask why they were doing that. This is Sicily. I’m a bit cautious after Taylor insulted the Carabineri yesterday.

We had some of our best strolling through Ortiga, the old town.

Best cannoli, hands down, melt in your mouth.

After overnighting in Siracusa, the next morning we headed on to another cool part of Sicily for the day, Agrigento. After our adventures there we had a harrowing drive through the interior of Sicily at night, in the dark, making our way back to Palermo late that night. It almost erased the amazing things we did and experienced in Agrigento earlier in the day. You know, like how bad ending can ruin a great book. Before the 2 hour white-knuckle drive in the dark, we had an epic day.

AGRIGENTO

Valley of the Temples and Scala dei Turchi

Approaching the Valley of the Temples. No less than 5 Greek ruin sites, dating from 500-600 BC, scattered across a valley and hillside. No joke.

No written records to indicate who’s temples these were, Greek gods, nonetheless. If archaeologists were funded well enough to work through the city of Agrigento many more ruins would be found. This photo is taken from a moving car, from the highway. Ours, I mean. Can you imagine a couple of these up close? It was wicked hot but with a breeze, like hot breath, but we know everyone back home was in the 100s so we did not complain. Yes, we did.

This was the most intact and the prize site. So much so, in fact, that a concert was held here the night before. Apparently, they often hold such events here among the ruins. The massive truck was loading up the stage equipment (so I embarrassed the kids and asked the roadies). Well-organized park but not the Smithsonian level of detail that we were craving.

Driving back home to Palermo after the afternoon at Scala dei Turchi. Very cool to see the monuments in the twilight. (And we got this special privilege because Taylor left his driver’s license at the Valley of the Temple audio device rental desk … so we got to head back for one last look. Thank you!)

Scala dei Turchi. A rare form of limestone, smooth and silky white. These terraces seem to rise up from the water in an organized sort of way. Quite striking. The Moors and marauders used these stairs, scala, to attack Sicily over the centuries.

We found a man working a modified bicycle-hibachi-corn-roaster situation. Best beach corn ever. Usually beach and corn don’t work well together so that means we didn’t mind that we were crunching sand but I think the Arab steps removed our inhibitions.

Palermo guide, Francesca, and her dear friend, Audrey in the center. Audrey’s parents, Johnny and Grace, and Audrey’s daughter, Alesia. We had a spectacular and memorable afternoon in their home in the foothills of Palermo looking out over the Mediterranean. Audrey and grace prepared an authentic Sicilian meal for us, all of it outstanding!! which we shared together over several hours. We learned so much but mostly, this was the moment that we fell in love with some Sicilians and in turn, with Sicily.

Vapors

A few days left, we suck the marrow …

Catalonia, the state in which Barcelona sits, is on the verge of gaining its independence from Spain. A vote on October 1st is expected to pass, although Spain isn’t talking about it, and certainly doesn’t want to acknowledge that it may lose its strongest economy. When we escape the tourist-choked areas or visit with Catalonians, the passion of this movement is evident, flags on balconies, Catalan language seen everywhere, often before Spanish.

There is a poetry and passion to this that is so stirring. In 2014, a public protest of Catalonians linking arms for 250 miles from the French border down to Valencia, shocking Spain, crying we are many and we are together. After time and other eventualities, it came to a referendum, passing by 80% of the vote, shocking Spain into a scurried rebuttal and demand for a revote. That is the October 1st vote.

We are preparing to come home knowing that the next time we return to Barcelona it will likely be very different. At the very least, it may be Barcelona of Catalonia, it’s own country. We have bought-in and are rooting for this amazing culture. What an inspiration, personally, to have such verve as a people, a culture, a state. What a thrill it would be to be a part of a nation with so much unified pride and commitment.

These days we discuss coming home daily, but not that anyone is sick with missing it. On the contrary. It seems instead that are going to miss the togetherness.

We look forward to catching up with friends and family. See you soon.

Love to all,

Julie, Taylor, Aidan, Piper, Ian and Graham

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Cinque Terre

Monteroso del Mare, the northern most of the five villages. These are tourist towns, mostly isolated and independent fishing towns discovered by travelers in the 1970’s. Not only do tourists come to see these stacked little villages and hike between them but Italians weekend here, escaping the hot interior.

From our window, up 176 stairs to the 11th floor in a 12-story apartment building. When she heard us coming, the woman on the 10th floor came out to her stoop to give us stink eye.

We played at the beach here, lounging til 7 or 8 pm each evening.

We set out to hike to the next town, Vernazza. This is looking back at Monteroso from the early part of the trail.

Our hike passed through little olive groves and vineyards. It was hot. Some shade. Some breeze. Some complaining. Some spectacular views.

Hike along the trail between the villages of Cinque Terre.

This adorable deaf man wound an extension cord from his home tucked up above the trail to set up a juice bar. Heaven.

Walked right through little vineyards on the tiny shelves of land.

This is the direction we’re hiking, south down the coast.

Eventually, we could see all four of the other villages from a lookout on the trail.

Just outside Vernazza. This front door opens up on the trail. That’s the trail on the right.

Gelato after lunch, still trying to cool down.

Pompeii with Piper

Special side trip, called Pompeii Express, for me and Piper.

Bullet train down to Naples. Bus to Pompeii. Funny tour guide, Enriquo, for the ruins of Pompeii, then water and slushee and back north to Rome.

We are looking at the remaining columns of a temple to Zeus, or was it Apolo, or was it Jupiter? Mt. Vesuvius in the distance. Had the wind blown differently that fateful day it would have gotten Naples, which is far closer to the volcano than Pompeii.

The main square, two main temples, a massive two-story building looking out on the square, courthouse… this would have been full of traders, tradesmen, residents and sailors.

Court house. Side colonnades were two stories. The second floor was open to the main interior space, allowing for a viewing gallery; the public could follow the rulings of the day. Seems as though gossip was a big component to their city life, reality TV precursor.

Piper is walking over the pompeian crosswalk. You can see another crosswalk up ahead, crossing the street to her right. Streets were full of sewage until they were periodically flooded and washed clean with water from the aqueduct. These raised stones allowed one to cross the street without falling in the muck. Carts and chariots were all made with standardized axels to fit between the stepping stones. Grooves for the tire/wheel tracks run deep in the stones of the streets, all black stones from ancient lava flows all around town. Vesuvius was active in the past and is still active.

Opera house for the wealthy and visiting VIPs. A much larger commoner’s theater located nearby.

Most larger homes had a basin for collecting rain water in the front courtyard.

Fresco. So many. This merchant city was not wealthy so there was nearly no marble but the walls were built with stone and brick and then covered with stucco or plaster – perfect for painting on. And repainting.

We learned that Pompeii was a trading port, right on the water however today it is almost 3km from the sea. The eruption of 79ad filled in the bay and changed the coastline. Before a recent grant for excavation these grander homes were not revealed, leaving mostly merchant shops, common parts of the city and common dwellings for view.

Continue reading Pompeii with Piper

Observation 4

We have only lost one of our kids on the trip (so far). It was Aidan. We searched the town for an hour before we discovered we had locked him inside the apartment.

This is a true story.

Observation #3

We’ve reached the point where the bickering has become its own language, like an ether.
It’s like a form of Yiddish, a language that you hear but don’t really recognize.

After being confined as a family in multiple forms of planes, trains, and automobiles over the last several weeks, one begins to experience it as if in a fuge state, somewhere in the transition from the absurd to the sublime.
Occasionally, in a trance-like state of avoidance something suddenly will snap you back into reality, perhaps a truck hurdling toward you, a punch being thrown, or in yesterday’s case, Julie yelling, “stop! take your hands off his penis!”…

This is a true story.

(In a case of meta-bickering, the children were bickering as I was writing this.)

Driving, long hours driving, from the northern interior, Plitvice Lakes National Park, to the Rovinj coast.

Rovinj Last Night

Rovinj is located in the region (state?) of Istria, a lush and hilly peninsula that wedges into the Adriatic. Croatia borders Slovenia and Italy and is close to Austria in this region so there are many influences and a steady stream of European tourists. I heard somewhere that Istria itself has a different Croatian feel but that it is an artist Mecca. If this is for real this is going to be great!

Dropped off at the last point where cars are allowed. We walk in to the old city to find our hotel, Casa Garrzotto, which is way cooler than its website! Another ancient home in a web of alleys converted into lodging. Graham’s bag might be heavy, too many pringles…?

Dropped bags, setting out for dinner and gelato and a stroll.

Continue reading Rovinj Last Night

Deadly Cats of Croatia, by Graham

The cats in Dubrovnik, Croatia (which is in Europe, by the way), are cute but can be deadly.

I did not expect there to be so many cats. We saw them in all sorts of places. We saw them in the streets, under bushes, at the beach, laying under motorcycles, even under my brother’s chair at dinner. They were everywhere. Seeing them, I wanted to play with them. They were cute but when I got closer I saw some of them had bugs in their eyes. I felt badly for them. Others were cute but deadly.

Our first day in Dubrovnik I saw a mother cat laying down nursing her six babies. She was a tabby cat. Two of her babies were also tabbies. One was white and orange with stripes. I named him Peanut. He was my favorite. The other three were black. There were two other grownup cats lying nearby. I named the mommy Roxy.

One of the cats I saw with infected eyes I wanted to pet but my mom said not to touch it, so I didn’t. I named him Bruce Wayne.

On the same night, I was looking for cats with my sister. I saw a black and white cat. My sister told me not to pet it but I could not resist. It let me pet it on his head for three seconds. I was surprised when it whipped around and bit me! It was trying to grab on to me. Maybe it was trying to get me to leave it alone. I named it Pussy Cat.

On our way to dinner, in one of the stairways of Old Town, I saw a gray kitty. I named it Alfred. This is one of the only cats that was nice to me. He let me pet him and hold him.

I hope that we see more cats on our trip. By the way, my dad is allergic to cats. It is ironic that I’m writing a story about cats.