Fourth Course: Ferrara (times 2)

Ferrara was a recommendation from a colleague of mine. She studied abroad there when she was a kid, and when I asked her for any advice, she thought we might want a break from all the tourist attractions--a taste, if you will, of a more authentic Italian experience, one, of course, that came to define her own love of Italy. So we went for it, and, indeed, it was a break, a pause. (By the way, if you haven't noticed yet, yep, it's me, Joe, the big Dad guy--I'm writing this post.)

A medieval citadel, often passed on the way to and from Venice, it is now also called the "bicycle city," which reminded me of our new home in Germany. A lot of younger people--students, it seemed to me, and greater diversity, not just tourists like us, it had a different pulse and charm all of its own.

But, to be honest, Ferrara was more like a palate cleanser than a main course for us--like two thin slices of bread. We stayed there two nights, once before and once after our jaunt to the Dolomites. Ironically, the Bicycle City was where we rented and returned a car--our trusty little Fiat; and where, apparently, the kids could catch up on the latest epsiodes of The Little House on the Prairie.

Be that as it may, we were still in Italy. No, these slices were not Wonder Bread. In fact, wouldn't you know it, Casa di Arianna, the place we stayed on the first night, was voted our favorite hitching post of all, and had we had more time--and maybe five bikes, I'm guessing the city would have grown on us more and more.

But, nope, we were about business there: a car, some laundry, and trying to collect and organize all our most recent memories. The fifth course, the Dolomites, up in the north--nothing less than that sat between and helped define our two tastes of Ferrara, which in the end, didn't do too badly complementing it.

And with that, I hand the reins back to Scout. Take it, Girl.