I just received an email from a dear friend who is planning to come over and visit this spring. I’ve traveled with her before, and we never fail to have a completely and utterly awesome time. Her schedule is wide open, and other than having Rome be our base, the continent is our oyster.
Read what we’ve come up with so far after the jump, and then tell me what would be your ideal mid-week jaunt with your old Miss Expatria.
We’ve thought about the Italian Riviera, but I will have just come from that direction, and will have to head back that way; also, she wants to “save” the area for when she comes to visit with her boyfriend, so that’s out. Paris is out for the same reason. As is Venice, as well as the fact that we’ve been there several times, which is also the reason why Barcelona is about to be crossed off the list.
We’ve thought about Sicily, but it’s a bit too hot for her by mid-May. She’s not a bake-in-the-sun kind of girl. This probably rules out the whole southern tip of Italy as well. (Michelle of Bleeding Espresso is safe – for now! Ha!)
The Adriatic side is looking promising. We could even use the sea as our hotel, and take an overnight ferry to Croatia! And I’ve always wanted to have lunch in San Marino, just to say that I went to another country for lunch. Oh, crap, except I did that last fall in Barcelona. Well, the more the merrier in that category, I find.
Right now, our best bet is looking like Cagliari, on Sardegna in the Mediterranean. We can fly there mid-week round trip and pay only taxes (and 12 euro each for not being eligible for online check-in) with Ryanair. We could see Cagliari, and then head to another town for a day as well. Any suggestions, my well-traveled readers? I’ve also asked Viola, The Only Girl I Know In Italy, who is from the island, for advice. (I do now know other girls in Italy, but for a long time she was the only one. The curse of the gay mafia, I guess.)
My dream jaunt with this friend, however, is maddeningly difficult to do. I’d love to go over to San Sebastian and eat tapas until we beg for mercy. There’s a great, cheap hotel there that I love, and the food and wine are absolutely the stuff poetry was invented for.
But, as they say in New England, you can’t get they-ah from hee-ah. We’d have to fly to Barcelona and then take a 7-hour train, or an expensive flight. I’m still looking at the possibilities, though. Never say never!