In Vilnius, Lithuania.
ADDED: In Venice, the Santas row.
More here from the hometown of Mr. Irene's Dad.
Showing posts with label fog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fog. Show all posts
December 20, 2015
December 27, 2014
July 4, 2013
Castello Sforzesco
Castello Sforzesco, Milan, Italy, October 1983. I traveled to Milan to shop for a winter wardrobe, but I found the historical sites more interesting than the stores.
June 26, 2012
"A medieval gem surrounded by modern chaos."
Milan, Italy, October 1983. That's how I described the Duomo when I sent this photo to my Parents.
April 26, 2012
April 6, 2012
Easter Manners: Consider what inspires you.
Milan, Italy, October 1983. Spires of the Duomo emerge from the dissipating fog.
dissipating fog.April 4, 2012
Foggy
When I moved to Italy, I traveled with one suitcase. Since I would be living in one of the world's fashion capitals, there was no point in carrying dated American clothing. I also assumed that the weather would be moderate, and therefore, my trusty London Fog raincoat would be the only outerwear I needed.
I did not realize that I had arrived in a city, Venice, in which woman pull out fur coats when the temperature dips below fifty degrees Fahrenheit. It's always freddo in Venice (and all maladies arise from the fegato). The landlady from whom I rented a room—my padrona—was shocked when I suggested a raincoat would get me through the drizzly winter. She therefore arranged for the two of us to travel to Milan so that I could buy a modest Italian wardrobe, including a proper winter coat.
The padrona gave good advice. Although the winter temperatures remained moderate, the dank chill was miserable. It also didn't hurt that the new clothing helped me blend in more easily.
(Sometimes I even blended in when I spoke: because Lithuanian is my first language, I don't have an American accent when I converse in Italian. Most Venetians couldn't place my accent, and they assumed I was ... Finnish.)
Milan, Italy, October 1983. My padrona and I seek out those neighborhoods where the locals shop.
I did not realize that I had arrived in a city, Venice, in which woman pull out fur coats when the temperature dips below fifty degrees Fahrenheit. It's always freddo in Venice (and all maladies arise from the fegato). The landlady from whom I rented a room—my padrona—was shocked when I suggested a raincoat would get me through the drizzly winter. She therefore arranged for the two of us to travel to Milan so that I could buy a modest Italian wardrobe, including a proper winter coat.
The padrona gave good advice. Although the winter temperatures remained moderate, the dank chill was miserable. It also didn't hurt that the new clothing helped me blend in more easily.
(Sometimes I even blended in when I spoke: because Lithuanian is my first language, I don't have an American accent when I converse in Italian. Most Venetians couldn't place my accent, and they assumed I was ... Finnish.)
Milan, Italy, October 1983. My padrona and I seek out those neighborhoods where the locals shop.
February 2, 2012
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