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We sat for a time, watching the tourists, and enjoying the sunshine and 62 degree temperatures. After lunch, we walked about the piazza, enjoying the controlled tumult and browsing the artists with their easels and the colorful souvenir vendors.
Next, we came upon one of the ancient Italian Monsignors celebrating mass at one of the side chapels. Even the sophisticated stand here quietly unsure of exactly what they are seeing, but respectful of the idea that the remains of so noteworthy a historical figure lay just a few yards away in plain sight.
We walked slowly along the medieval streets, admiring the ancient framing and well preserved architecture. Just next to the Duomo, Rita pointed out an entire area that had been laid out to expand the church. Marco led us to the ancient a€?Spade Fortea€? ristorante, on the periphery of the Piazza, for lunch.
We passed through Recco, a Ligurian center for cooking, and then exited into the a sprawling town of Rappalo for the coastal ride into Santa Margarita, where we would take a small ferry to Porto Fino, the heart of the Italian Riveria. The Castello Brown is everything your imagination could place it to be, sited on the high promontory over a picture book Mediterranean village.
We walked topside, enjoying as always the collage of sun, sea and sky, as we knifed through the rolling swells. The Devonshire spread ( as in butt the size of) still engulfed us, so we did another five laps around the deck # 7 promenade. All passengers casually look up at a large electronic tote board that lists gate assignments. I could see the white cliffs of Dover as we crossed over the English channel and flew across to France. It seems that they had left an entire baggage cart, from our flight, at Heathrow during one of the a€?beat the clock a€? scenarios.
We wandered the back alleys, consulting our trusty map and once asking a merchant for directions.The trouble with asking questions in passable Italian is that the hearer assumes you speak the language fluently and rattles off a response in rapid fashion. We showered and prepped for the day.NCL was putting on a buffet breakfast in the hotel for the early cruise ship passengers.
The Mediterranean Sea sparkled a dazzling blue against the bright sun and lighter blue of the sheltering sky. Francois Grimaldi, the founder of the line, came to the area in 1297, with a small army of soldiers, all disguised as monks. We followed a nicely trimmed walkway to the a€?Rochea€? (rock) area, so named because it had literally been carved from the cliffside rock.
Off the courtyard lies a circular verandah that overlooks all of Rome.We sat for a bit and enjoyed the view, then found a tiny cafe where we had a cappuccino with other pilgrims who visiting the fortress. We retraced our path, down the circular ramp, and exited onto the esplanade along the Tiber, replete with cadres of africans hawking all manner of souvenirs. It is a functioning museum, with a collection of intersting sculptures and art works, but we were tiring with the day and wanted to push on. A swirl of languages provided an auditory bath for our ears, as we walked amid the crowds, enjoying the life and laughter of so many around us. We had to ask how the Italian key board works, to find the ampersand symbol that is used in e-mail addresses. The lobby was awash with businessmen, attending some conference or other, and hundreds of other cruise-ship passengers wandering about. The surrounding countryside was devoted mainly to agriculture, with many vineyards running along the coast. The papal states took possession of the harbor in the 14th century and it had evolved into the chief commercial port of Rome during unification in 1870.
We stood in our orange life vests, with whistle and water activated light, and listened patiently to the crew member assigned to us. It is our custom, when cruising, to have a drink at the topside bar and watch the ship leave port. We were seated at a small table for two and ordered a bottle of Meridian Merlot from a Ukranian wine steward named a€?Igor.a€? We exchanged several comments in Russian and enjoyed the conversation with him. Siena is south and east of Florence, a beautiful city of art and culture that we had already visited and enjoyed on a previous trip.

At its peak, we looked out over the Piazza del Poppolo and enjoyed the view of much of Rome. We found the subway entrance nearby and walked down into the bowels of Rome, to catch the a€?Aa€? train back to the terminal.
The impression we got was of a very clean and well ordered city, with little graffiti, litter or urban blight. The three other facades of the church are radically different in design, all reflecting the dynamics of the Spanish church and government in different periods of the cathedrals construction. The ship gathered speed and we reluctantly waived farewell to a beautiful and unique city in Catalonia. Calamari, risotto with shrimp, penne pasta, cannoli and decaf cappuccino all accompanied a Mondavi Merlot. The stitches and wound looked icky, but the tissue was already showing signs it might grow back together.
My hand was throbbing to beat the band, but hey, no one likes a whiner, so we went and were glad we did. A former Roman outpost, from the first century, Barcelona is now the heart of the Catalonia region of Spain. Gaudi offers a unique marriage of art and architecture that is elegant in composition and a delight to the eyes. The front facade rises in four towering and conical spires of dark brown sandstone, that narrow into tapered and brown-stone, laced pillars. I could write several chapters on this elegant sandstone epiphany, but suffice it to say that it is a conceptual marriage of architect Antonio Gaudi, and painter Salvatore Dali. A large fountain, floral gardens and a well-ordered square complete and compliment this lovely square.
We crossed over the Tiber River and smaller streams, noting the unique triangular, truss-supports on some of the more rural bridges. We hung on to over head straps and looked out into the gloomy subway, eyes unseeing like the most veteran romans. We had purchased rosaries on a previous trip and wondered again at the whole a€?blessed at the vaticana€? scam. I looked on amused and amazed at what i was seeing, as the temporal veil of two thousand years of recent history raced through my mind. Inside, we followed the circular walkway that rose gradually up the 90 some feet into the air, to the castles battlements high above us.The ramp was designed to carry popes and caesars in coaches ,high above us, where they could be walled in from besieging marauders. Twin churches on antiquity, now banks, guard the entrance to the Via Corso to the South, and the rest of Rome. Further down the parkway we knew lay the hotel Hassler at the top of the imposing Spanish Steps. We thought about stopping at the Hotel Hassler for coffee or a drink, but were convinced that they would recognize me for a scoundrel and give us the heave ho. We found a spot where we could hang from over head straps and enjoyed the ride back to the Airport. Nazaire France from 1991-1993 for $240 million dollars and originally named the MS Dreamward. After dinner, the stewards would take whatever portion of the bottle of wine that you consumed and save it for you in a central repository where you could call for it from any of the several restaurants on board. Michaelangelo had been a frequent visitor in the quarries, to select blocks of marble for his sculptings. This treasured fruit would yield 19 kilograms of oil from every 100 kilograms of olives pressed. I dona€™t think we, as Americansa€™ have much of an appreciation for this a€?quiltwork of principalitiesa€? that made up a region, each warring with the other over the ages. The Monte Dei Pasche, a commercial banking syndicate of Siena, had also become the bankers for the papal states and collected both interest on their loans and outstanding debts for the popes for centuries.
Her English was better than my German, so we talked for a bit about the usual pleasantries. My grandparents the Walter Sealeys lived just two blocks from downtown in a home on Main St. The Apennines extend down the spine of Italy, appearing like some great skeleton on an exhibit, in a natural history museum. We had some decent Chianti, very tasty caesar salads and bread, with cappuccinos afterwards. We watched amused at the scores of a€?smart carsa€? and compacts scurried in and out of the congestion, jockeying for position in the moving metal stream. I could picture the Romans arriving late, complaining of the heavy chariot traffic, as the sat in their assigned seats, waving at acquaintances and craning their necks to see what dignitaries now sat on the elevated dais.
A tunnel even supposedly exited underground.It ran from the vatican, some blocks over, to the fortress where popes could retreat in times of attack. We sat by the fountain, listening to a musical group playing nearby, and enjoying the whole panoply of activities that swirled around us in this huge meeting place in Rome.
They do things like that in Europe where centuries are relatively much shorter spans of time than in America. The homes, more Spanish style, Hansel and Gretel-type cottages, also feature elegantly tiled exteriors that are in the Dr. We sat for a time in the star dust lounge, but the entertainment was just as lame as our previous encounter.
Along the many coastal areas, we noticed the old fishermena€™s homes, that are painted in various bright Mediterranean pastels. We boarded and I stopped by the deck # 9 internet cafe to send a few message into cyber space.

I had the presence of mind to think of the huge swelling of tissue to come, and managed to slip the large college ring, from my finger. Unfortunately for us, both the Dali and the Picasso art museums were closed on that Easter Monday. Sealey Bldg.- still standing!) I was raised in Alachua, coming to school in 1942 (3rd grade) and remaining there until 1952 when I graduated. Now, it lay like an ancient and broken sign post pointing faintly to a grandeur that once was Rome.
Throngs of other tourists from everywhere stood around us, as we too pitched coins backwards over our shoulders in hope of returning to Rome yet again.We had done this twice before and returned each time, so maybe the magic works. These hardy warriors are all trained infantrymen from the Swiss Army, who stand ready to rock and roll, with whatever comes their way, to protect the pope and Vatican City. They no longer asked for tips in the loo, they had sliding doors that only opened to admit one, if you inserted .60 euros in a slot . From this port, you can access Florence, Pisa and a bit further out, the medieval, walled city of Siena. No one had really ever substantiated the claim, but it made for great symbolism and interest both to the natives and the tourists.
It was an elegantly manicured parkland from which to stare out over the sapphire blue Mediterranean. We repaired to our cabin to write up our notes, shower and prep for dinner with the Martins. Perhaps this was because the allies had bombed the port area back to the middle ages during WW II?
I had visions of sitting in an emergency room, at some French hospital, with the boat sailing away for Barcelona without me. Barcelona had been an interesting melange of Moor, Jew and Spaniard until 1492, that pivotal discovery year. We watched and enjoyed the tourists, from many countries, snapping pictures of the fountain and each other. In past ages, their duty had not been ceremonial in the many times that both Rome and the Vatican had been under siege, from some particularly surly invader bent on plunder and mayhem. Andrea Doria, a middle ages naval admiral, and figure of note in Italian history, had also lived here.
What wonderful memories I will always cherish from my hometown! ?My husband bought our first car when we married in 1957, from Bill Enneis.?Thigpen's Drug Store was on the corner of Main Street.
Far below in the village, a small shed houses two donkeys who used to ferry people and luggage to this pricey Inn, in the mountains above Monaco. I guess it becomes more understandable, of their recent posture towards conflict, in the middle east.
It is here, in the village below, that we met and talked to Peter and Julia Martin for the first time. We had noticed them on a few tours and decided to ask them to join us for dinner this evening.
Manners got the better of them though and they agreed to meet us later in the evening for dinner. He also sold tickets to ride the train to Wiliford, Bell, Curtis and Wannee to the west of Alachua, and to LaCross, Brooker, Sampson City, and Starke to the east of Alachua.
Waters family, was the agent at the Atlantic Coast Line Railroad (ACL) across the street, both depots were on the south end of town. Highway 441 ran through Alachua on main street; the by-pass and overpass was not built until the forties.
Formerly there had been a big cotton farming operation in the area supporting two cotton gins. One gin was in the middle of town on a spur railroad track of the SAL and one on the south end of town on SAL's mainline. In general ,however, because the "Main stay'* of the economy of the community was farming, the area did not suffer as much as other areas. Little happened during the week; school, church, gardening, cleaning yards and a few social club meetings.
There was visiting with friends, getting haircuts and other amenities of life that you hadn't done in weeks or months. Most businesses closed at 5 - 6 O'clock, but grocery stores stayed open until 8-10 O'clock. The Four H Club, sponsored by the school and County Agent, was a big influence in the community.
Occasionally a theatrical company would come to town and help the community put on a production of some kind.
Among the other things you did for entertainment or diversion was to go to Gainesville to see the movies.
There were two theaters in Gainesville; the Florida Theater on University Avenue and the Ritz (Or Lyric) Theater near the post office. One of the cool things about going to tlie movies in Gainesville; they were air conditioned.
Ehjring hot weather you would go to Poe Springs, a few miles west of High Springs for swimming and a picnic or to Blue Springs, which was a little further west. It was located just west of present day I - 75 on the south side of Millhopper Road to Gainesville.
The east-west passage was the largest From the west entrance you went east down a gradual slope for 30 to 50 feet.
When you got to the bottom and center of the cross, you could see an extension to the north that extended 30 to 40 feet.
Several university students were injured exploring the cave and rumor has it that possibly one or more may have died as a result of dare-devil climbing.
As the participation in WWII grew in scope and activities the depression ended and the good times returned. C. Frankly, it's been only out of respect for my parents that I never legally changed my name. Okay, with that behind us, let's see what my dad, at the age of 97, now recalls about the old days in Alachua. His station was at the southernmost rail line running by Copeland Sausage Company and Ennis Motor Company.
Leland manned the Seaboard station just a few yards from Papa Waters' Coastline station on the south end of town. David manned another Coastlme station, known as "East Alachua," which was located up by the current location of US 441. The old road tfiat comes in under the railroad overpass and then turns north at Main Street was the original US 441 .
Passengers traveling to High Springs would disembark in Alachua and look for other transportation to High Springs. As results were telegraphed in, he would give them to my dad (Beb), who would "run" them to City Hall, where a large board displayed the latest election information.
The center of town in those early days was just north of the Seaboard tracks, on the southern end of Main Street, as I think of it today.
Mott's blacksmith shop was just up the street from the barber shop of Willie Cauthen (Hal's dad). One of tfie hotels, The Hawkins House, later named the Skirvin Hotel, was just south of the southernmost railroad tracks.
Large bowls and platters of meats, potatoes, vegetables and breads were placed on the tables and the guests would pass them around just like at a large family gathering. I recall one summer when Dad and I were "batching" and he and I ate there quite often. Living in town, we enjoyed the convenience of regular home delivery of the block of ice needed to keep food in the box cool. The old man who delivered the ice was named Lige, but I don't recall the name of the horse that pulled the wagon. The best-known train that ran through town was named "Peggy." Peggy was a Seaboard train that ran from Staike through Bell to Wannee, where the train would turn around and retrace its route. I recall a story that now escapes Dad's memoiy about what his mom and the other Waters mothers would do from time to time when the kids got under foot. Since all three moms in the Waters clan had access to the railroad, they could use "Peggy" to occupy the kids for a few hours.
Simply put the kids on the train when it arrived from Starke, and they would be out of the way for a few hours while riding down to Wannee and back.
I remember at least one occasion when my cousins Larry, Johnny Dampier, Lano (Delano), maybe Clara Nell, and I made that trip.
Since all the "big boys" (older cousins) got off during the temporary stop, of course I did too. As the runt of the lot, I was the last to grab for the hand rail when the train started moving, and I almost had a very long walk back to Alachua.
Other entertainment for Waters boys: Ventures into Warren*s Cave were treacherous in Dad's day. He says they had no flashlights, so they took "fat pine" sticks to light up, once they were deep enough to need a light source. Dad recalls one occasion when the circus was in town and some of the horses got loose just as a train was passing though.
It was an outdoor theater composed of a billboard-type screen and rows of logs for the audience to use for seating.
The show was located in a vacant lot on the east side of Main Street, approximately one block south of the main downtown intersection, where the First National Bank was located for many years. Marbles were a lot less expensive than the electronic devices kids have for entertainment today. So was everything else! Bland Horse Races 1944  By Kent Doke:The Bland horse races actually started in Haynesworth in the summer of 1944 when Paul Emery and I raced our horses on the straight graded road North of Hollingsworth. I had borrowed an English saddle to race with and when we jumped off, the right stirrup leather came off the safety catch and was dragging. I couldn't get it off my foot and was afraid the horse would step on it and drag me off I always claimed that was why I lost the race and it was why I rode bareback in all the races to follow. Somehow Jessie Shaw got involved and we started having horse races in Bland every Wednesday afternoon after school. At that time people not in the service were making more money than they had ever made in their life. No cars were being made during the war so people rode with each other to the nearest entertainment. What is now County Highway 241 that runs out from Alachua to the Santa Fe River was at that time a seldom graded road. In the late thirties and early forties this new road was being cut using only mules and convict labor.
I still remember the guards with shotguns loaded with buckshot guarding the prisoners as they drove the two mule teams pulling small drag buckets of dirt.
Jessie really got into the racing; he would grade one quarter mile of the road using a tractor and a grader he bought. He cut the fence so cars could be parked on the West side of the road and, at it's peak, we would have about 250 people out to see the races. I raced my own horse, The Santa Fe River Ranch entered a horse, Jessie raced a horse, Roy Ceilon, J.
Once George Duke brought a race horse and jockey with a jockey saddle in to race against Roy's horse. We were very lucky to win that race and did so only because the jockey couldn't control the horse at the start.
About fifty years after the races had stopped I asked Roy how much he thought was bet on those races and he said probably about twenty five hundred dollars.
Also about fifty years later I was introduced to an old lawyer in Gainesville who asked me if I had ever ridden horses in the Bland Races. Makes me feel good, even now. Aiachua High School Memories  Charles Beverly (Beb) Waters Class of 1930 The Alachua Indians played football on a field that was right next to the school rather than down the hill from the grammar school. The offense was the Notre Dame Box, The quarterback lined up about four feet behind the center and had a fullback lined up a few feet behind him.
The other two halfbacks were lined up on their left (or right), stacked one behind the other to form a square box.
The QB would take a direct snap and then hand off to one of the backs or drop back to pass.
And yes, we wore leather helmets and had drab brown canvas pants; and the jerseys were whatever you could find and had no numbers. Alachua didn't have a good punter, so Marion Pearson would try to throw a long Interception rather than try a weak punt. The Big Rival was the High Springs Sandspurs, at least until around 1929 when we had "the Big Fight" playing in High Springs, The referee that night was a prominent High Springs doctor (Whitlock?), maybe even the mayor. Emotions were running high, and an intense argument between players, coaches and the referee ended in a Big Fight when Jessie Shaw knocked the referee out cold and the townspeople charged the field. I prudently ran for the car. As a result of the fight, the teams didn't play each other again for a number of years (20?). School buses couldn't be used for game trips, so townspeople would drive the players, Barney Cato was a rural mail carrier and had a son on the squad.
The school buses back then were Model A trucks with a row of seats down each side and a bench down the middle.
A long one story building was in its' place containing eight classrooms and a big auditorium.
One big event of that year was a class play about the Pilgrims Thanksgiving and with the Indians. One day a student walked behind her, on the way to the restroom, and kicked the chair out from under Miss.
I had to wear glasses beginning in the seventh gi'ade, so did not participate in sports much. Perhaps the biggest event in our High School lives was the Junior and Senior theatrical productions. The Junior class play was usually produced in the fall and the Senior class play in the spring.
Wq were excused from classes to climb into a ton and a half truck to go load scrape iron from some garage or farm. Som.eone asked her a question and she answered, "just a minute, I have the answer right here in my drawers". So, if you could manage to leave the Supply room unlocked, you then had to find a classroom window unlocked.
In closing I have always told anyone who asked, my years at A H S was comparable to the Tom Sawyer story.
One gin was in the middle of town on a spur railroad track of the SAL and one on the south end of town on SAL's mainline. There was visiting with friends, getting haircuts and other amenities of life that you hadn't done in weeks or months. Frankly, it's been only out of respect for my parents that I never legally changed my name.
Okay, with that behind us, let's see what my dad, at the age of 97, now recalls about the old days in Alachua. Leland manned the Seaboard station just a few yards from Papa Waters' Coastline station on the south end of town.
The old man who delivered the ice was named Lige, but I don't recall the name of the horse that pulled the wagon. I recall a story that now escapes Dad's memoiy about what his mom and the other Waters mothers would do from time to time when the kids got under foot. I couldn't get it off my foot and was afraid the horse would step on it and drag me off I always claimed that was why I lost the race and it was why I rode bareback in all the races to follow.

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