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I have to admit, when I was growing up if someone mentioned the Berkshires I thought; how lame. Little pimples of mountains, terrible snow conditions and just a few bodies of water to paddle. Heading up the highway in College to face off against the Purple Cows of Williams certainly wasn't much of an enticement. Who has a purple cow for a mascot? But, a pre-baby weekend to Lenox with the wifey changed my tune. The Norman Rockwell Museum was pretty cool. (We love his covers for Cobblestone, still a great magazine for kids). The Book Loft in Great Barrington was just our speed, used and old. Maybe a couple of hours down the pike was worth it?
Our closest family friends have just bought a place in West Stockbridge. What a super cute little town! Twenty minutes down route 41 from the restaurants and shops of G.B., and just a hop, skip and a jump to the highest concentration of cultural institutions anywhere outside NYC; see Tanglewood, Jacob's Pillow and MassMOCA. But we came for the snow. We hit Butternut on Saturday. Sure the bunny hill was a little bunny. The greens a little steep. We still had a blast. I managed to ski Sydney and his pal on my polls down a blue, solo.
It was the house and the hood that were the hit though. It just kept snowing, hour after hour. From the blizzard like drive out on Friday night to the flurries on home. Saturday was snowman day. Miami Kami (see wifey, aka Live from the Fence) even got into the snowtacular with some really cute snow bunnies. But the icing on the cake, (pun intendended) was the snow battle of the century on Sunday. It was bloodline vs. bloodline as the fort walls piled high. The snowballs flew, as we worked ourselves into a sweat in 30 degree freeze, soaking in the snow. We had such a blast, we might even forgo the Cape this summer for a little culture of our own.
What do the Pope and Pinocchio have in common? Beyond the fact that "Jiminy Cricket" used to be a polite expletive for Jesus Christ, these two historic figures appear to be the number one sales items in every tourist trap in the city of Rome. So how fitting that we started the day at the Vatican and ended it at Restaurante Il Pinocchio in Frascati. We had made reservations for the Vatican because of the horror stories we had heard about waiting in line with kids. The irony is the that the drive in was over two hours, (no more Metro parking lot crisis on our last day we decided) and then waited twenty minutes to get into St. Peters. We barely even had time to chase pigeons while mommy waited in line! Ok, so how do explain the Pope and the city-state of the Vatican to a young Jewish kid? I didn’t even try. Sydney was really into the cupolas though, and we were all were pretty amazed by Bernini’s use of marble, bronze and general baroque extravaganza.
I had higher hopes for Sydney’s interests in the Sistine Chapel. Although, deep in my eighteen years of memory banks I had images of wandering for ages through the Vatican museums to find it. Luckily, they had mummies. Even Lij got into the Egyptian museum, comparing “little mummies, big mummies and oh, kitties!” He thankfully passed out for the long haul through the long halls. Finally we arrived, with Sydney about to face plant it and we got through a brief summary of the Old Testament highlights thanks to Michelangelo; the Exodus from Egypt, Noah and the Ark and the creation of Adam and Eve. He thought the pictures were “cool,” even if we may have to still send him to Sunday school for the content.
Wasted from a long walk back to the car we crawled down the autostrada for one last supper in our favorite neighboring town, Frascati. This is one of the castle towns of Rome with a great old church and perfectly cute shops, (including lots of childrens’ clothing which seems odd given that Italy has the lowest birth rate in the world.) Kami had read Pinocchio with the boys before leaving and we were even suckered into getting them both wooden dolls when we got here. Yet far from the tourists here in Frascati we turned the corner and viola, a six-foot high rendition of the puppet. Ahhhh the finishing touches on a great trip; a last penne and ragu, some gelato to wash it down and a reservation to return to the most kid-friendly city we’ve ever seen.
The first rule of any dadventure is making sure that mommy is happy. Today, we loaded up into the car for the pilgrimage to Tuscany’s wine country. Long before we had children, Montepulciano meant nights out in New York City for my girl. Why would I drive over two hours through the Italian countryside all the way to Tuscany? Road rule #2: food trumps all. So we started the morning in our little neck of the ‘burbs with cream filled croissants, cafes for the ‘rents and a quick stop in the fruitteria. The strawberries and clementines with leaves intact are out of this world, and made it all of ten minutes into the drive.
This brings me to rule #3, have a great foodie destination in mind. Perhaps head for a quaint little country restaurant, famous for it’s wine and pork; (Fattoria Pulcino, thanks again Frommers). After they plow through fettucine con ragu number twelve of the week, let the kids chase cats while you refill wifey on the wine and eat yet another bite of perfect prosciutto. Which brings me to rule #4; don’t let her finish the bottle or what began as a set-up for a longer dadventure to Tuscany down the road becomes a conversation about why can’t wejust move here; ignoring such important topics as jobs, family, housing, etc.
Rule #5; critically important, make sure to time your naps for the car, not for the long hike up the side of a medieval street to the highest piazza in the region. Rule #6; keep plying your children with treats, this time a densely thick hot chocolate from the place that hosted the film crew of Twilight: New MoonAutogrill for their Italian shoot (yeah, I've read three of the books, I work with middle schoolers people). Rule #7: give them a break from eating at the playground, while you lounge on the bench overlooking hilltop farms and villages older than the freedom trail. The last and final rule, #8, make sure to stop for dinner in a Autogrill rest-stop, just to prove that American fast food is so poor in quality, that your wife is willing to go on another road trip in any foreign country of your choosing.
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