Category: Travel

Restaurant Review: Gotha Cocktail Bar (I was never cool in school)

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You know one of my favorite things about being an adult?  No, not being of drinking age.  It’s finally knowing what you like, being ok with it, and acting accordingly.  As Amy Poehler says in her book, it is being able to say, “Good for you, not for me.”  I forgot this for a hot minute the other night and almost wrecked date night.

It started when some folks in the building proposed a happy hour to plan a holiday party crawl in the building at a local wine and cocktail bar.  I was all set to go, but then they had to switch the date and I couldn’t.  When date night was moved to a Monday and snuck up on us, I thought, “why not try this wine bar?”

It was raining when we set out.  These days it always seems to be raining.  We’d been warned about the rainy winters here.  “It’s just water,” previous me thought, “No big deal.”  Current me wants to smack previous me and make her spend days on end with the kids indoors.

It starts raining harder.  Even though we are armed with umbrellas, our lower halves are getting wet.  We’re getting uncomfortable.  We pass a backup location–somewhere we’d already been–and wonder if we should stop.  But no, I decree that we soldier on.  It’s date night!  We can’t “waste” it on something we’ve already tried!!

The rain keeps picking up.  We also keep noticing that everything in the neighborhood seems to be closed.  It is Monday after all, which means more is closed than usual.  If we walk all the way there and it’s not open . . . I can’t even bear to think it.  We press on.

Finally.  It’s open!  And trendy!  And completely deserted.  Seriously, we were the only people there.  More people were working than patroning.

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So we sit.  I belatedly notice, it is definitely a cocktail bar and not so much a wine and cocktail bar.  I’m not a cocktail hater, but I’ve finally realized (with the exceptions of margaritas and bloody marys) that I’m not a cocktail person.  Wine and beer, yes please.  Cocktails, good for you, not for me.

The staff was nice.  We had very generously portioned complimentary antipasto and chips.  But it was cold in there.  So cold.  The trendy door was open.  We were wet and cold.

I got a cocktail and tried to make the best of it, but I couldn’t fool myself.  I didn’t want this drink.  I didn’t want to be here.  But I re-remembered that being an adult means doing what you want.  It was not too late to change course.  So we headed out to the backup location, Obica, and enjoyed a meat and cheese plate with wine in toasty warmness.

So I’m not not recommending Gotha.  My drink was tasty.  (They had a variety of cocktails, almost all at 10 euro.)  The interior was swanky.  I’m sure it is very happening when full of people.  If this sounds like your cup of tea, I say go for it.  Good for you, not for me.  I’m glad I tried it, if for no other reason than the one hour detour made me appreciate, and remember, what I really like.

Demonstrating my uncoolness

Demonstrating my uncoolness

Gotha Cocktail Bar, V.le dei Parioli, 144/146, 00197 Rome, Italy   3493021505 / 068080325

Found yourself in any situations you weren’t feeling lately?  Did you stick it out?  Wisely bail before the situation even arose?

Are things different? Glad you asked: Starting Solids Edition

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As I mentioned recently, we just started solid foods with Mac.  I forgot how much of a pain solids are.  Yeah, it is awesome seeing your kid doing a new thing.  Yeah, they look really adorable.  But, man, it is messy.  Now I get spit up and random bits of food.  Cleaning the giant high chair tray in the not-quite- big-enough sink is a pain.  And then you have to remember to bring food for them when you go out.  And spoons.  And bibs.  And even more wipes than usual.  Luckily, we haven’t reached that point because we’re just dabbling with one meal (or so) a day, but it is coming.  And soon.

As many things, Italians have a different approach on starting solids.  Our pediatrician is supportive of us doing it “the American way,” aka rice cereal with milk or formula, but wanted us to know about “the Italian way.”  (She is also supportive of our current approach for Mac, “the what worked for Henry way,” aka bypassing rice cereal and jumping into veggies and fruits.  Henry is a pretty great eater; I’d like to replicate as much as possible.  If only I could remember what we did!)

Here is a snippet of the instructions she provided:

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Making your own broth for cereal?  Cool, sounds good to me.  What cracks me up is that the Italian approach adds Parmesan cheese and olive oil right away.  Priorities!  What cracks me up even more is that an “espresso size spoon” is used for measurement.  Because, of course it is.

After the cereal, babies work on veggies and fruits.  And eventually work their way up to:

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Yes, rabbit and veal.  It is safe to say that baby food looks a little different here.  No judgment.  I just have to laugh that they put the most adorable magician’s- hat, want-to-be-your-pet, snowy rabbit on the packaging.

So far Mac has done carrots, zucchini, sweet potato, banana, apple, and pears.  He was tentative for anything non-sweet at first, but now is pretty enthusiastic about whatever we throw his way.

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We have plans to start with the white meats on Thanksgiving.  Still working up to rabbit . . .

What was your approach on solids?  Did it include cereal?  Veal?  Espresso?  🙂

Want more differences?  Differences around the house here.  Differences on lifestyle here.

Restaurant Review: Pizzeria Gaudi (ALL THE CHEESE)

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I’m always trying to find a balance.  On the one hand, I love love love trying new things.  But I also love the idea of being a regular.  Rolling up and having a familiar table with a familiar waitress.  Maybe not a place where everybody knows your name, but a place that is part of your regular routine.  My parents go to the same restaurant every Friday night and know the owner and I think most of the staff.  My in-laws have a place where the cook starts making their order as soon as they walk in the door.

Post-kids, we did end up with a regular spot in DC.  One morning, I had the inspired idea to hit breakfast at the 24-hour joint (it now closes in the wee hours) around the corner.  Breakfast food is delicious.  Breakfast also feels like a lower stakes meal with kids.  And that’s how we ended up doing breakfast at The Coupe almost every weekend.  We never had a usual waiter or table because of a larger staff and many other parents had the same idea (seriously, it was baby central up in there), but it was a nice part of the weekend.

Two times does not a trend make, but I think Pizzeria Gaudi is going to be one of our neighborhood go tos.  We haven’t taken the kids yet because of the hours, but I think they would be welcome.

I have received a request for more “food porn,” so I’ll just let the pictures do the talking here.

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Fritto Gaudi, an “assortment of fried specialties”

One pizza to share should do it next time

One pizza to share should do it next time

Linguine al Pesto Genovese Rossi and Cavatelli Gaudì

Linguine al Pesto Genovese Rossi and Cavatelli Gaudì

We went back the second time because it was pouring rain and I just wanted a heaping bowl of pasta.  Gaudi definitely delivered.  Man, Italians know pasta.  Perfect al dente pasta with just the right amount of sauce that somehow stays warm the whole meal.

Nobody recognized us the second time.  But maybe someday.

Gaudi, Via Ruggero Giovannelli, 500198 Roma;  06 8845451

Are you a regular anywhere?  Does everybody know your name?   

Apples and Oranges: San Gimignano and Volterra

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Two hill towns, both alike in dignity, in fair Tuscany where we lay our scene.  I hoped to have “hard hitting” analysis on the “better” hill town from our recent trip to Tuscany, but our experiences were really apples and oranges.  I liked both San Gimignano and Volterra.  If I could only recommend one, it might be San Gimignano.  No, Volterra.  But probably San Gimignano?  See, what I mean?  I just don’t know.  I want to say Volterra, but I feel like it didn’t get a fair shake.  Lemme ‘splain.

If you look at the guidebook (Rick Steves’ is our go to), it talks about both towns being nice but Volterra being more untouched by time and San Gimignano being super touristy.  San Gimignano is easier to get to from the highway, which likely factors in.

We did San Gimignano in a morning, the morning of the day with the gorgeous weather.  We had a nice walk through town.  In a way the hill towns are great for kids.  Because only local residents can drive, traffic is limited.  Definite elevation changes, but almost everything was stroller friendly.

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Henry became obsessed with this olive tree

Henry became obsessed with this olive tree

San Gimignano is famous for its surviving towers.  There used to be more (70something?).  These were a defense mechanism.  If you were getting sacked, you climbed up your tower and burnt the stairs.

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Tower selfie

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The town absolutely was touristy.  The tiny town has not one, but two torture museums.  Buses of tourists pulled up.  We passed through many groups visiting from all over the world.  I’m not sure we actually saw any locals.  It was not uncomfortably crowded, but we weren’t there during peak season.  In a way, the touristyness helped us out because things were actually open on a Sunday morning.

Streets off the beaten path were much quieter

Streets off the main drag were much quieter

After our stroll around town, we had a lovely al fresco lunch at Locanda di Sant’Agostino.  It was adjacent to a square and Henry ran around with Alessio, a similarly aged boy who happened to be eating with his parents one table over.  Even though we didn’t get to see inside the church or museums, we had a really nice time just experiencing the city.  One of those dolce vita moments.

Bruschetta

Bruschetta

 

Drinking local wine Vernaccia

Drinking local wine Vernaccia

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Henry’s new thing is climbing ALL THE THINGS

Contrast this to Volterra.  We went inside the city three times, but never in the daylight.  All three times were chilly.  Once it was raining.  I hoped to spend a morning in Volterra, but that was the day of ALL THE RAIN so we just kept going post afternoon nap.

Ancient Etruscan arch. In WWII, the town convinced the Nazis not to destroy it by literally digging up the streets to plug the gate.

Ancient Etruscan arch. In WWII, the town convinced the Nazis not to destroy it by literally digging up the streets to plug the gate.

Volterra definitely felt less touristy.  You didn’t see as many tchotchke shops although there were some.  You did feel like you were surrounded by Italians.  Real live Italians that actually lived here.  But I can’t definitively say that Volterra is less touristy; only that the town is less touristy in the evening, which is what you’d probably expect many places.

Well preserved ancient theater

Well preserved ancient Roman theater

Palazzo dei Priori

Palazzo dei Priori

We did enjoy some nice food, like our magical night at Enoteca Del Duca.  Trattoria da Bado outside of town was amazing.  We also had a tasty meal at Don Beta, which was conveniently open closer to when we like to eat.  We had a miss on Sunday night where we scrounged for takeout pizza after nothing was open, even things that said they’d be open.  *Cough* La Vena di Vino *Cough*

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Volterra had sort of a creepy vibe.  This could have been heightened by the dark.  It felt stark.  Craggy.  A little desolate.  This is where Twilight’s Volturi live.  Meyer picked it based on the name, but you could totally see a vampire strolling around the corner at night.

Local cookie, Ossi di Morta, "bones of the dead" (It tastes almondy and crunches. You know, like bones.)

Local cookie, Ossi di Morta, “bones of the dead” (It tastes almondy and crunches. You know, like bones.)

I’m glad we saw both.  Volterra was a very intriguing city, but our overall experience in San Gimignano was probably more pleasant for factors outside of Volterra’s control.

So after that imperfect and highly unscientific comparison, if you could visit only one, which one are you leaning toward?

Remind me not to live in the mountains

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I was excited about our vacation.  I was excited to explore some new towns.  I was excited to taste some new foods.  But I was particularly excited about the drive.  Picture it: a scenic drive through rolling hills flanked by olive trees and vineyards.  It would be so picturesque, I just knew it.

Fast forward to actual drive.  We left post-lunch to try to align afternoon nap with the three hour drive.  (This was largely successful until we stopped for gas.)  The drive along the autostrade was uneventful.  Same for the smaller highway.  And then we turned off onto the local roads.

I had just been telling James that I hoped our kids wouldn’t be the carsick kind, thinking about those poor unfortunate types with delicate constitutions who had to stop frequently and clean their cars more often.  I didn’t think that *I* would be the weak link on the team.  But, alas, although I wasn’t sick, I was the one white-knuckling it around the curves and with an uncomfortable pit in my stomach.

First, these are not hills.  I suppose they aren’t mountains, but they have to be close.  Mini-mountains if you will.  Very tall.

Second, for the most part, the speed limit is 60 mph!  And people are doing it!

Third, people did not seem to be behaving as if they were dealing with very narrow, mountainous roads with high speed limits.  We’d come around a blind curve and a car would be parked in the middle of the road, the inhabitants off looking at some flora or fauna.  People would be walking beside the shoulder-less road.  Bikes would be cruising along, seemingly oblivious to the traffic bearing down on them.

It was gorgeous.  I will give it that.  Grape vines turning a golden yellow.  Clouds over the top of a mountain.  But the drive was intense.  And I wasn’t even the one driving.

We reached Volterra in the late afternoon.  Because there was no recognized address, James had punched the GPS coordinates into the navigator.  Unfortunately, the GPS tried to take us on there on a route without roads.  This resulted in some turns down very narrow roads with my saying things like “this can’t possibly be two-way!!!”  But we made it back on track and found our agriturismo down a long and bumpy dirt road.

The sun was setting and we watched it slip over the horizon.  It was, admittedly, gorgeous.  I could almost see putting up with the hassle of these roads for it, I thought.

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Then I realized we’d have to go navigate these roads AT NIGHT if we wanted dinner.  We survived.  My hand cramped a little from gripping the door handle all the way.

And then when we emerged the next morning, it was a truly breathtaking scene.  A perfect Tuscan day.  The sun shone brightly.  Clouds looked like they had been placed in the sky as props.  You could see the sheep grazing on the next mountain–even hear them baaing along through some trick of sound.  It was green and beautiful and wonderful.

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So I definitely do see the appeal.  I get it.  Just not for me.  A nice place to visit, but not to live.  I mean, it snows here, people!  I don’t even want to think about the roads then.

Fall in Italy

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I’ve been feeling nostalgic lately.  Not exactly homesick.  Mostly nostalgic.  It happens generally when I look at Facebook these days and see all the fall fun.  You know what I’m talking about.  Apple picking.  Hay rides.  Halloween costumes.  Corn mazes.  Gorgeous fall foliage.

Over here?  Not so much.  The weather has turned a little cooler (and rainier).  Many plants are still green and even flowering.  The ones losing their leaves seem to have them turn brown and fall off immediately.  I saw a few Halloween decorations in windows, but not much.  We were in a restaurant that was putting up decorations the day before.  At that point, I thought, why bother?

But I’m seeing that fall in Italy means other things.  It is time for jackets, boots, and scarves.  (Although in Rome, they have honestly moved on to puffer coats already.  Temps are usually in the 60s.)

It is time for vendors roasting chestnuts by the side of the road.

And it is time for fall flavors.  I don’t mean pumpkin spice lattes.  Seasonal favorites like cinghiale (wild boar), truffles, and porcini mushrooms.  We got to experience all of these on our trip to Tuscany.  All in one meal even.

We arrived at our B&B outside Volterra in the late afternoon.  The owners asked if we would be eating at their restaurant in town that night.  We had looked at it in the guidebook, Enoteca Del Duca, but written it off because it was described as a good place for a nice and romantic meal.  And it didn’t open until 7:30.

But, in full view of our toddler and six-month-old, they were asking if we’d be dining there.  I almost followed up and asked, “are you sure it’s ok for kids?”

Since people were rested and restless from the three-hour car ride and we were getting a later start into town, we decided to go for it.  After walking around Volterra in the dark for a bit, we made it to restaurant opening time.  Conveniently, we had the restaurant to ourselves for about 45 minutes.

What followed was one of those magical meals where everyone was chill and enjoyed it.  The kids were not screaming or fighting to get out of chairs.  The adults were not gulping food or exasperated.  We were aided by the bread basket and more liberal use of pacifier than is usually permitted.  (For Henry, they are just for sleeping.  Mac still has full access.)

Mac's first time in an Italian high chair

Mac’s first time in an Italian high chair

In fact, we enjoyed everything so much that I forgot to take pictures.  But it was all very delicious.  We had a bottle of the owners Marcampo wine, made from 50% Sangiovese and 50% Merlot, which was not quite as full-bodied as we hoped, but had a great mouth feel and paired well with the food.  Oh, the food!  We started with wild board proscuitto with cheese fondue and a souffle with shaved truffles.  I really like boar, but I find it hard to describe.  I wouldn’t call it gamey.  Just like a more robust, extra delicious pig.  Henry hasn’t met a cured meat he doesn’t like, and he polished off the truffled souffle like it was dusted with M&Ms.  A cheap date he is not.

Henry was less interested in the main course, but no complaints from James and me.  I had the pasta with porcini mushrooms.  It was very delicious, with excellent noodles and a light sauce, but I didn’t lose my head over the porcini.  They just tasted like nice-tasting mushrooms to me.  I’m not sure I could have identified them in a mushroom taste test.

James’s, however, was one for the record books.  He got the pappardelle with wild boar.  He allowed me three bites, and I cannot fault him for not offering more.  First, picture the most delicious noodles you can.  Kind of like your mom’s amazing egg noodles, but uniform and somehow staying hot.  And then morsels of stewed boar incorporated throughout.  Boar that is tender, but has bites with a hint of crispy burnt end kind of deliciousness.  I had a pretty decent boar pappardelle later in the trip, but this dish will be the one against all others are measured.

At that point, the natives were restless, so we skipped dessert and coffee.  Didn’t want to push our luck.  We had other pleasant dining experiences and tasty food on our trip, but nothing where everything came together like that first night.

Tuscany bound!

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Sorry for the light posting this week.  As we speak, we are packing up for our first overnight trip.  Back next week with stories of the kids terrorizing Tuscan hill towns!

NBD, this is where we are staying.  Try not to be super jelly.

That time we *almost* went to mass at St. Peter’s and *almost* saw the Pope

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We did it!  We publicly transited!  I actually have two tram trips under my belt now, but this is a post about our first.  (No bus or metro yet.)  After we purchased our tickets, I went with a “go big or go home” approach and suggested to James that we go to church.  At St. Peter’s.  After consulting the tram schedule, this was not as crazy as it originally sounded.  We could pick up a tram  a few blocks from our house that would take us right there.  After much less cajoling than expected, James was convinced.

Now, I know what you’re thinking.  Hey, lady with the two small kids – you know St. Peter’s is pretty crowded, right?  ESPECIALLY on a Sunday.  And that is fair.  Being a Sunday morning did actually help us on the public transit front though.  Fewer cars on the road meant our travel time was faster.  It definitely cut against us because I forgot it was the last Sunday of the month, which means museums are free and therefore crowded.  We decided to go for it, taking the attitude that it’s not that far away.  If we want to see more, we’ll go back.

T – 60 minutes to mass

After consulting mass times, we decided to aim for the 10:30 am.  The tram rolled up after waiting just a few minutes.  The tram wasn’t packed, but people were leaping out of their seats to make room for the kiddos.  (This happened again the next day.)  This was nice and comforting for when I venture out with the kids on my own.  In DC I could usually get a seat, but not always, and people weren’t falling over themselves to make room.

Henry loved everything.  He loved looking out the window.  He loved holding onto the bar.  It was a hit.  (Mac slept through most of the ride.)

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Once we got there, we remembered about the free-museums-last-Sunday, but we weren’t trying to go into the museum–just St. Peter’s.  So we set off for the Square.  How bad could it be?

T – 30 minutes to mass

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It was pretty packed.  The line snaked all the way around the square.  I decided to wait in it for a bit.  It was a gorgeous day.

While Mac and I waited in line, Henry treated St. Peter’s Square like his own personal playground.  I love that.  Even though he won’t remember this, I’m looking forward to telling him, “Hey kid, we used to live in Rome, and you ran around the Vatican like it was your own personal playground.”

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James got to chase Henry around.  He said Henry got a lot of “aww” looks and some “who does this child belong to” looks.  At one point I saw a woman go up to Henry, but I figured James is right there, everything must be fine.  Apparently, she came up and said Henry was so beautiful she wanted to kiss him.  And then actually kissed him.

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T + 10 minutes to mass

The line took about 35 minutes.  We went through metal detectors.  We made it!

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Inside, it was very packed.  We were about ten minutes late to mass, but that’s practically on time around here.  A few minutes after we arrived, however, they started announcing communion instructions.  “Either that is the fasted mass ever or we messed up the times,” I told James.  It seems we messed up the times.  We were roped off from the legit worshipers who were more in the know on mass schedules, but we decided to look around where we could.

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T + 30 minutes to mass

So we left sans mass.  We found a bathroom, but no changing tables.  (#stpeterssquare #placesmysonsjunkhasbeen)

T + 55 minutes to mass

At this point, we could probably leave and get home in time for lunch and actual naps without any serious meltdowns.  But James realized the Pope would be addressing the crowd at noon.  That meant if we could make it another half hour, we could be a part of that crowd.  They were no longer letting people into the church, and we realized that the exit point was a pretty great spot to see, should we want to wait.  The weather was on our side.  Should we go for it?

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I looked at the gathering crowd.  Hundreds.  Thousands.  I’m bad at estimating, but it was a lot of people.  After dithering for a few more minutes, I decided that waiting half an hour could be tolerable, but exiting when everyone else was would not be.  So we bailed.

Instead of calling the trip a failure, I’m calling it a win.  We successfully navigated public transportation.  Even if we didn’t mass, we got to see inside St. Peter’s.  Even if we didn’t see the Pope, we know a good strategy for viewing next time.  And that’s the beauty of living here.  We can come back whenever we want.

I’ve talked to Henry some about that time he went to the biggest church in the whole world.  “You know, St. Peter’s.”  Henry is all, “Mr. MacGregor’s garden.”  What, kid?  Oh, right, Peter Rabbit.  Different Peter, but at least something is rubbing off.

Restaurant Review: Open Baladin

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I have been drinking wine.  I’ve had some amazing wines.  I’ve had some meh wines.  But wine has certainly been had.

Sadly, I cannot say the same for beer.  As I mentioned here, I’ve been disappointed by the beer situation so far.  Granted, we haven’t tried very much.  This is mostly because the beer at the grocery store looks like a light lager fest.  And I’m not hating on light lagers, but there is a time and place.  James finally found a German Helles and it was an almost spiritual moment.

To address this situation, on a recent date night we headed to Open Baladin.  It is the Roman outpost of the Italian brewery, Baladin.  Open Baladin opened in 2009, but Baladin has been brewing since 1996.  We knew going in that they have more than 40 draft beers and supposedly decent burgers.

The place is close to Largo di Torre Argentina (which totally did not have any cats when we walked by.  WHAT??)  It was tucked in off a side street where I may have asked James if he was taking me somewhere to murder me.  But we found it.  We walked in.  We saw this.  Angels sang.  It was glorious.

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The extra cool thing about Baladin is that they serve their beers alongside other Italian microbrews.  No tasters though.  All draft beers are served in 33 cl sizes and cost 5 euro.

The place was definitely hopping, but we didn’t have trouble getting a table.  In what seems to be a trend, we were sat at a table with a “reserved” sign even though we did not have a reservation.  (James tried by phone earlier, but it seems they don’t do reservations for two people.  Although the first thing they asked us coming in was whether we had a reservation. Go figure.)

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You know that thing when you eat out where one person is the winner and one person is the loser?  Meaning someone’s food is always better than someone’s elses?  If you have multiple courses, you may be able to redeem a disappointing starter.

Here, we had three beers each and burgers.  James definitely “won” this restaurant.  Luckily we both won on these homemade garlic and pecorino chips.

 

 

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The ketchup was basically tomato paste.

I had the “singing in the rain” burger which sounded yummy, but I thought it was too red peppery.  James had something with cheese, eggplant, and other stuff which was very delicious.  The burgers were not quite like home, but definitely the best I’ve had around here.  Which isn’t saying much; I’m not really out sampling many burgers.  (Two months in and no trips to McDonald’s yet!)

And on to the beers.  I was disappointed to learn that they were out of my first choice, Follower IPA from Vento Forte.  I was out for hops.  ALL THE HOPS.  (Luppoli = hops.  Luppolata = hopped.)  I substituted with a TSO from Casa di Cura.  It was ok.  Certainly a drinkable beer, but nowhere near the punch-you-in-the-face hops I was hoping for.  James had a Gerica, a lager from Birrone.  It was described in the menu as when the Germans met the Americans.  It was excellent.  Some German sensibilities with American hops.  This was probably my favorite beer of the night.  I would have gotten more of it, but there was no time.  So many beers to try!

Up next, I got one of Baladin’s Opens.  It seemed appropriate given the location.  It was described as a pale ale, but it just tasted a bit off.  James got an espresso-flavored stout.  It was at the suggestion of our waitress, and I was never certain on the name.  It was pretty good.  Very drinkable.  Good for the cooler weather.

To finish, I joked with James that I would get him one of the Belgian beers.  “Haha, like maybe I’ll get you a ‘Triplica Special Edition,’  (from Opperbacco) wait that actually sounds good, I’m getting it.”  It came in a fancy Belgian glass.  I don’t know if I would get it again, but it had nice hops and nice flavor.  It was good for me to end the night with.  James got Baladin’s Nina on cask.  It was smooth.  Kind of creamy.  It didn’t taste super ESB-y as described, but I recall that it was decent.  This round was probably a draw.  I think we were both happier with what we got.

Even with my “loss,” it was a great night.  Considering all of the people there, service was shockingly good.  Like beer came faster than if I had been sitting at the bar and watching the bartender pour it.  Many other restaurants are on our list, but I’m sure we’ll be back.  The siren song of the hops is a strong one.

We did the monster mash

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Bomarzo’s hottest site is Parco dei Mostri (Park of the Monsters).  Also known as the Sacro Bosco, this place–created during the 16th century–is a collaboration between promoter Pier Francesco Orsini and architect Pirro Ligorio.  This place has everything: dragons, elephants, leaning houses, and mystery tour surprises.  What are mystery tour surprises?  It’s that thing where your toddler takes you off the labeled route.

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One of Henry's favorites . . . at least judging by how much he talks about it

One of Henry’s favorites . . . at least judging by how much he talks about it

Stefon-ing aside, this was our most recent Saturday adventure destination.  Selected because my mom raved about this park, it was a convenient distance away (about an hour), and we needed to rev the car to make sure it is ready for our Veteran’s Day excursion to Tuscany (!).  Hopefully this jaunt did the trick.  James is now concerned about the gas being old.  Me: “Gas doesn’t go bad.”  James: “Stay away from the car.”

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It was a gorgeous day.  We went stroller-free.  This was smart because the park is not huge, but has lots of elevation change.

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After learning my lesson at Hadrian’s Villa, we took the picnic with us this time.  Which we enjoyed technically out of the picnic area.  This is pretty scandalous, rule-breaking stuff for me.  Sadly, I am not being facetious.

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The park was nice, but it must have been truly ridiculous back in the 1500s.  A DRAGON?  WHAT??

Henry was a good sport for much of the trip.  But he also enjoyed jumping from things and playing in the leaves.  You know, the usual.

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Since naptime was already good and hosed, we enjoyed some more of the weather at the playground on the way out.  Henry tried to befriend a little boy named Giorgio as his trusted seesawing companion.

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As we pulled out of the parking lot, both kids were totally and completely over everything.  There was much screaming until the magic of the car running finally put them to sleep.  James navigated the autostrade like a pro.  All in all, a pretty successful outing.