We could not leave Positano without one more visit to La Taverna Del Leone. Our same driver picked us up and greeted us like an old friend. When he found out that we were leaving in the morning, he wanted to know what time. He was sad that he had another commitment because he said he wanted to take us to the airport. But he said, “My colleague will be good for you—just like me!”
The first night I had paid him when we arrived at the restaurant and again when we arrived back at the hotel. However, tonight he said, “you not worry about paying me until later!”
The staff at La Taverna Del Leone greeted us warmly and welcomed us back. They had read the review I had posted on Trip Advisor and they were most grateful. We ordered salad and Margherita pizza with buffalo mozzarella. As we were eating another couple came in and after we finished a conversation with our waiter, they said, “Where in the south are you from?”
They live in Cary and have a son at Elon and a daughter at High Point University. Their son is studying in Florence, so they came to see him and tour Italy. They actually drove a rental to Positano and had some harrowing tales to share. The waiter shared with them that we had enjoyed the lamb on our previous visit. They ordered it and agreed it was divine!
Our driver picked us up and said good-bye at Hotel Gabrisa. The next morning his colleague picked us up and we headed to Naples, but not without a surprise. As we drove through Positano we stopped where a man was sitting on a bench, neatly dressed in a tie. We almost didn’t recognize him—it was our driver from the previous nights! He again said a heartfelt good-bye, told us we had an excellent driver, which we did. It reminded me of a scene out of a movie.
Our driver to the airport was from Sri Lanka. He moved to Italy when he was sixteen, now has an Italian wife, and his family now lives here. He was very knowledgeable, friendly, and spoke excellent English. He asked us about North Carolina. It is still true in Europe that the magical name they associate with North Carolina is Michael Jordan. Our driver told us that last summer Michael Jordan and Lebron James came to vacation in Positano with their families.
It took us an hour and a half to drive 47 miles to the Naples airport. Our driver said in the high season, the drive can take 3 hours or longer. The traffic was already terrible, especially coming into Sorrento. I would not want to visit during the high season.
There was a long line at the Alitalia counter. We had almost two hours before our flight so we were not concerned. While we were waiting a group of young people from London came in. Their group leader told us that they were scheduled to fly home yesterday, but the baggage handlers for Alitalia had been on strike. That explained the long line and we were thankful the strike lasted only one day.
When I arrived at the ticket counter the agent seemed surprised that I had luggage to check. “But sir,” he said. “You must pay for your baggage.”
Our plane tickets to Turin cost us around $75. My checked bags cost me almost $190! $265 for two plane tickets from Naples to Turin plus baggage is still not a bad price, even if we did have to change planes in Rome.
We only had an hour to make connections in Rome and I could see us running through the massive Rome Leonardo da Vinci Fiumicino Airport trying to make our connecting flight. It was pouring rain when we landed, then we taxied for a good 15 minutes to our gate. When we got off the plane we found an information monitor and looked behind us, our flight to Turin was the same gate we had just exited. We would be flying on the same plane! Also, at our gate a concert pianist was entertaining everyone on a baby grand. This was our lucky day! Little did we know that our luck was about to run out . . . or maybe, our blessing was about to begin.
We re-boarded our plane and backed away from the gate early. By now, the sun was shining and our flight had many empty seats. I had been reading a very good novel, “The Tuscan Child” by Janet Quin-Harkin. I had never read anything by this author, but I was intrigued by the title and the book was excellent. I only had a chapter or two remaining, so I started reading as we taxied to the end of the runway for takeoff.
Joyce has always told me that she prays for safety every time we fly. I guess I’m too trusting, but I think I will start doing this too. As we picked up speed down the runway, everything seemed normal. I looked at my watch and thought; we will be arriving early in Turin!
There is a point in the takeoff process when you realize you are airborne. I had just glanced out the window, thinking that we were about to leave the ground, when boom! There was a loud noise, we were all thrust forward in our seats, and the pilot hit the brakes. Everyone was stunned. What just happened?
When we came to a stop, the plane turned and taxied off the runway, then the pilot made an announcement. Since it was in Italian, I didn’t have a clue what he said. The nice lady sitting beside me recognized my confusion and said, “Birds. We hit birds.”
We taxied for a few minutes, then the pilot had another explanation. The woman told me, “We are going to have the plane checked for damage.” Then she typed something in her cell phone and handed it to me. She had typed in Italian and the phone translated into English. “There were seagulls on the runway.”
We taxied to a remote place where airline mechanics started checking the engines and the brakes. The pilot got off and we waited for the next ninety minutes. Every now and then he would make an announcement which the nice lady translated for me. “Very soon, we will be on our way.”
Two men got up and went to the front of the plane. They looked like businessmen, probably upset they missed their business appointment in Turin. They got off and did not return.
Finally, the door was closed and the pilot made an announcement in Italian, followed by English, thanking us for our patience and telling us we would soon be on our way to Turin. When we landed in Turin I thanked the pilot for keeping us safe. I also thanked the nice lady for her kindness. And I thanked the good Lord for his traveling mercy. Since I’m in Italy, perhaps I should have also thanked Saint Christopher, the patron saint of travelers. In my book, this lady was always praying to the different saints.
I should have had an icon of Saint Christopher when we got into the taxi at the Turin Airport. “Momma Mia!” The driver practically shouted, “Welcome to Italy!”
The next thirty minutes made our aborted landing at the Rome Airport seem like child’s play. Our driver spoke very little English. Joyce told him we could talk with sign language, which he quickly enjoyed. The only problem was that he was using his hands to talk, which is a problem because you need at least one hand to drive, and when Joyce would answer with her hands, he would turn around to see what she was saying, which is a problem because one is supposed to look at the road as he drives. Then he would exclaim, throwing both hands into the air, “That is good! That is good!”
As we barreled down the highway to Turin, our
driver was constantly chattering about beautiful Turin and giving us advice on
where to go and what to do. As we
entered the city we found out he did not like red lights. When we would stop for a light he would
shout, “Red, very bad!” “Green, very
good!” And off we would go. He was driving in the streetcar lane,
although I’m not so sure he was supposed to be there. He was trying to explain to us that one
section of town was dangerous after dark.
When I finally figured out what he was saying I said, “We old. We no dance.” He thought that was splendid, and he threw
up his hands and laughed and laughed before launching into another
oration. He was telling us about a
cinema museum (I thought he was telling us where to go to the movies, but I
found out later that a world-famous cinema museum is here) and trying to tell
us how big it is he spread his arms as wide as could, which would not have been
a problem if he had not been driving.
Thankfully, Saint Christopher was riding with us and after screaming at
a few more red lights and trying, unsuccessfully, to squeeze past two buses in
a loading zone, we pulled up in front of our hotel, the magnificent Turin
Palace.
The fare in the taxi showed 34 Euros. I gave our driver two twenties. At first, he looked disappointed, then he laughed and thanked me profusely. I think he was going to kiss me but I got away.
We made our way into the elegant hotel lobby and all our worries quickly went away. This is a first-class hotel next to the train station. The rooms are beautiful and very spacious. We have a king size bed, a walk-in closet and a full bath. The staff is professional and most attentive. Everyone speaks perfect English.
We decided to have dinner in the hotel tonight. A first-class hotel like the Turin Palace also has a first-class restaurant. Restaurants in Turin don’t open until at least 7:30 p.m. and precisely at 7:30 we were escorted into a gorgeous dining room in the fashionable Les petites Madeleines Restaurant. Our distinguished waiter invited us to enjoy an Aperitif before dinner. Then we received two very dainty and unusual pre-dinner treats. The top third of an eggshell had been removed and the eggshell was filled with warm egg whites followed by potato puree, a liquor, and raw egg. We also received a veal tartara, a true Italian treat. We enjoyed a salad with tuna, cauliflower soup, and veal filets.
The next morning, I went to the stunning breakfast room and asked for two Americana coffees to take to the room. The friendly waitress responded by bringing me a silver tray with a pitcher of steaming coffee, two coffee cups, cream and sugar. “Is this okay,” she asked?
After an excellent breakfast that included scrambled eggs and pancetta, we caught a taxi to the Museum of the Shroud. The Shroud of Turin is one of the world’s great mysteries. It is a linen cloth that bears the image of a man who has been crucified. Many believe that this was the actual burial cloth wrapped around Jesus of Nazareth following his crucifixion. Others believe that this was an elaborate forgery by a medieval artist and in 1390 a Bishop claimed an artist had actually confessed to the forgery. In 1988 carbon dating placed the cloth around 1260 to 1390 AD. Others have pointed out inconsistencies with the carbon dating approach, and so the debate goes on. Is this the actual shroud of Christ or not?
The Museum of the Shroud does not try to convince you that it was the actual shroud of Christ. It is devoted to the history of the Shroud and the many years of scientific research that has been devoted to this relic. I found both the museum devoted to the Shroud and our visit to the nearby Cathedral where the actual Shroud is kept in a protective case to be fascinating. To me, whether the Shroud is authentic or not is not the important thing—what is important is that this relic has inspired faith for millions of people and hundreds of people have devoted their lives to the study and preservation of this amazing ancient cloth.
I was deeply moved by the experience of standing in front of the Shroud. No, we could not see the actual Shroud, it is under a glass that is covered with an elaborate pall. But to know that we were standing just a few feet from this holy relic was indeed awe inspiring. As Pope Francis prayed when the Shroud was last on public display in March of 2013: “Dear Jesus, in front of the Shroud, as before a mirror, we contemplate the mystery of your passion and your death for us. It is the greatest love with which you have loved us, even to give your own life for the last sinner. . .” Pope Francis also stated that the look of the man in the Shroud “is directed not to our eyes, but to our heart.”
In 1598 the care of the Shroud was entrusted to a Catholic Brotherhood known as the Confraterniti of the Sudario, the Holy Sudarium. The Museum of the Shroud is located in a Sudarium church, “Santo Sudario.” The museum is staffed totally by church volunteers and the two ladies who greeted us at the front desk were volunteering for the first time. They asked us if we also wanted to see their church, and of course we did. As the only lady who spoke any English was escorting us to the sanctuary, she told us that the mission of their church was the mentally ill. This mission had been given to the brotherhood by the King in 1728 when he provided a lot for them to build a mental hospital.
If one wishes to prove the resurrection, it will not be found in authenticating the Shroud of Turin or any other type of scientific evidence. The proof of the resurrection is found in acts of mercy, love, and kindness like that of the Holy Sudarium who ministers to the “least of these.” This is the only proof we need.
We left the Cathedral and enjoyed a leisurely stroll past the Palace and the Piazzo Castello and down the famous Via Roma, the primary shopping boulevard that runs from the train station to the Palace. There are many fashionable shops with recognizable names. It was a cool day, but felt very good in the sun. Perfect weather for walking!
We went to the train station where we purchased our tickets to Florence on Friday. In our 2010 Sabbatical we had a Eurail Pass, but many trains are reserved trains and there is an additional charge. The only time I encountered an ugly Italian (In Europe, Americans with an attitude are called a UA—Ugly American) was at the train station at Monterossa al Mare when I was trying to purchase reserved seats. He was irritated that I didn’t understand Italian and was practically shouting at me. With this experience in the back of my mind, Joyce and I made our way to a ticket agent. With a welcoming smile and a kind demeaner, she quickly answered our questions and within five minutes we had two first-class tickets on the fast train (I’ll explain in the next chapter). Our hotel is literally across the street from the train station, so we stopped by the room to search for a place for lunch. I turned to my trusty resource, Trip Advisor, and said, “There’s a sandwich shop not far from here. Believe it or not, they are the #1 rated restaurant in all of Turin!”
I was using my Google Maps to find Mollica, but felt like since it was the #1 rated restaurant it would not be hard to find. Good thing I had Google Maps. When I walked in the door, I did a double take. There were only three small tables, the menu was posted on the wall, and two men with smiling faces stood behind the serving counter that displayed all the delicious meats and cheeses to choose from. You could choose from 4 different types of homemade bread. We really didn’t know what to order, but the owner cheerfully told us not to worry. He prepared two amazing sandwiches full of Italian meats, cheeses, vegetables and condiments. When he asked us how we liked our sandwiches, I asked him if he knew his little shop was the # 1 rated restaurant in all of Turin.
“Yes!” he said with a wide grin.
I told him that after my review they would continue to be #1---and I wrote a glowing review for Mollica.
We decided to eat again at the hotel tonight. This time we ordered spaghetti. It was homemade pasta of course and very good.
Thursday morning, we took a taxi back to the Cathedral and spent a more reflective time in front of the Shroud, watching the pilgrims who came to worship in its presence. Then we walked to one of the greatest Egyptian museums in the world, the Museo Egizio. The Museum was Smithsonian quality, containing many amazing Egyptian artifacts. There were hundreds of school children there! While it made conditions in the museum very crowded, and at times, noisy, we were grateful that these children had such an excellent opportunity to learn. It seems that Italians still believe in the importance of field trips!
After spending a couple of hours at the Egyptian Museum we decided that it was time to indulge in a culinary experience that was beyond description. We dined in the most historic restaurant in Italy, one of the most beautiful and historic in all of Europe. Located in a 1757 Palace on Piazza Carignano, the elegant dining hall with its golden mirrors, dental moldings, and sparkling chandeliers look exactly like it did when it served as the favorite dining spot for the heroes of the Italian Risorgimento (The Italian Unification). The waitress showed us the table where the first President of the Italian Unification, Victor Emmanuel II would dine in the 1860s.
I told Joyce that the room reminded me of an elaborate historical room you would visit on a tour, only to be allowed to peer in. But here we were having a grand meal and being served as if we were the King and Queen of the country.
After several petite antipasti, our first course was “Insalata Piemontese Di Matteo Baronetto.” This is the most incredible salad I have ever seen, much less enjoyed. This salad is so exquisite that the restaurant provided us with a color picture that points out the 24 different ingredients. It was full of colorful salad greens of different varieties, cheeses, various peas, herbs, and seeds, tomatoes, artichoke, asparagus, violets, and berries. Yes, it was as delicious as it sounds! Our main course of veal was almost anticlimactic, but we were still a long way from the end of this fulfilling adventure.
Our waitress rolled a large box on wheels to our table that reminded me of something a magician might use. She opened the box and the sides folded down and behold, there was a delectable display of wonderful cheeses! We selected three cheeses and she showed us which order to eat them. My favorite was the Gorgonzola.
But there was still more! We had the most amazing dish of Pistachio Gelato, with four silver goblets full of enticing candies to adorn the dessert. Then, just when we thought we were finished, our waitress said, “We have one more surprise!” We were presented with several chocolates on a silver serving tree.
We will never forget this rich dining experience. As we were leaving we were thanking one of the managers and he asked where we were from. He told us about his only experience in Raleigh. He lived in New York and flew to Atlanta to see the Falcons play his favorite team, the New York Jets. He changed planes in Raleigh and he added that it was the worst flight of his life to Atlanta. And, the Jets lost.
I mentioned Joe Namath and he said, “Joe Namath! That is why I became a Jets fan!” When I told him that I saw Joe Namath play in college, he said: “Bear Bryant—you must be one of the Bear’s boys.” I took it as a tremendous compliment!
We made our way back to the hotel where I worked on this journal. Tomorrow will be a big day. We are catching the “fast train” to Florence!
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