I love walking around Saint Marks Square in Venice.

You have five different bands playing classical music all at the same time, the musicians dressed in white dinner jackets. Couples holding hands are enjoying the high point of their lives, making out in every corner. African immigrants are selling odd flying toys. The line at the gelato stand is a mile long.

I’ve been doing this since 1968, and my grandfather before me in 1917, and every year it’s just as intoxicating.

Only the clouds of pigeons are gone from the old days, poisoned by the Commune of Venice out of existence. I guess they were a health hazard.

The three-hour bus trip to Cortina d’Ampezzo was nothing less than hair-raising. The driver tore along roads that were maybe four inches wider than the bus, with precipitous 500-foot drops over the side. As we rose into the Dolomites, the scenery became increasingly impressive.

There used to be a cog railway that made this route the famous “Blue Train.” It was torn down in 1963 when it could no longer compete with the automobiles of a rising Italian middle class and is now a bike path. When this happened in Switzerland the government poured in massive subsidies to keep the trains running, which are now major tourist draws.

Once in Cortina, I checked into a suite that Earnest Hemmingway occupied for several months. He left behind a battered Royal portable typewriter which I used to send you a trade alert. Hopefully, some writing skills rubbed off on me.

I made the pilgrimage to Cortina to find the grave of my great uncle, a first lieutenant in the Italian army who died here in WWI. I hired a guide who took me along the front lines, and we picked up spent bullets and rifle parts at every turn. Abandoned telephone lines and barbed wire still dangled from the trees after 106 years.

On another day, I made the pilgrimage to the top of Little Lagazuoi, a massive 2,000-foot stone edifice turned into a fortress by the Austrian defenders. It is riddled with miles of tunnels so they could fire down on the Italians with devastating effect. Two reenactors dressed as Austrian and Italian soldiers gave me some local history and even let me inspect their guns.

After a week my story had gotten out and the whole town was looking for the grave of my lost lieutenant. But no luck. Out of one million Italian soldiers lost in the Great White War there we only 10,000 graves. The rest are missing in action.

On my free day, I decided to climb the most challenging of the surrounding Dolomite peaks, the Grand Torri of the Cinque Torri, or “Five Towers”. My guide interviewed me carefully first to make sure I was not just another American who had gone insane and was going to take him down with him.

My experience?

The Matterhorn seven times, Mt. Fuji in Japan four times, Mt. Whitney in California twice, and oh yes, Mt Everest, but only up to 22,000 feet where I ran out of oxygen. “Then let’s climb the Grand Torri,” said Stefano, my guide, with enthusiasm.

I have not engaged in technical rock climbing for 50 years. But it’s just like riding a bicycle, you never forget, right? Well, maybe. One problem is that I had gained 40 pounds since the last time I climbed.

Two hours later found me outfitted with a helmet, harness, and a heavy 80-foot rope clinging to a bump the size of a grape on a shear limestone face 200 feet off the ground. Stefano shouted that there was a better handhold a meter to the right. I couldn’t see it because of the curvature of the mountain face, so Stefano said “Jump”. Jump I did, and miraculously my bare hand caught the alleged outcrop.

The really hilarious thing is that while I was doing this a crowd of hikers accumulated at the base. Every time I made a death-defying leap they applauded and shouted “Bravo.”

How embarrassing!

After nine pitches we made it to the summit. I took plenty of pictures and videos along the way. But to do so I had to hold my iPhone 14 pro in my teeth while I switched from holding the rope with my right hand to my left. At a certain point, I decided I had enough video for the day and quit while I was ahead of the game and still possessed a phone.

Getting down was yet another challenge. Abseiling requires quite a leap of faith as you must lean back perpendicular to the mountain and then walk down backward as Stefano paid out a rope. One slip can lead to disaster. But an hour later I was back at the bar sharing a celebratory beer with my guide.

The next day, I rented a car and drove across the Italian Alps on the narrowest roads imaginable. But that is a story for another day.

TO BE CONTINUED.

 

 

Sending a Trade Alert from Earnest Hemingway’s Typewriter

 

 

 

WWI Italian Bunker

 

Spent Austrian Bullet

 

Rifle Inspection

 

Machine Gun Nest

 

My Guide Stefano

 

Was this Such a Great Idea?

 

Made it to the Top

 

The Celebratory Beer

I am now three weeks into a five-week European sojourn and things couldn’t be going better. I missed the US actors strike by a week, the England Southwestern Railway strike by three days, and the London Underground strike by two days. However, in Italy, I was hit by a one-day rail strike there.

Better yet, the stock market is up ten days in a row, torturing the few summer players left in it.

Who wouldn’t love a week in the Big Apple, its vibrancy and energy overwhelming? I booked a VIP seat to watch the Macy's Fourth of July fireworks display, including all the Champaign and hot dogs I could eat and drink. Despite several flirtations with bankruptcy, Macy's still puts on a great show.

I also spent two days at the New York City Department of Records tracing my family history. Among the amazing facts I discovered was that my grandfather’s first job upon entering the US in 1915 was to work as a machinist for Orville Wright at Wright Aeroengine in New Jersey. This was America’s first effort at mass-producing aircraft. That explains my family’s long association with aviation.

The New York Strategy Luncheon was outstanding, with a good time had by all. A collection of long-time loyal subscribers, some going back as far as 12 years, received the briefing of a lifetime and managed to throw in a few ideas of their own.

I joined the Queen Mary II at the Brooklyn Cruise Terminal, reclaiming the owner’s suite. It’s nice to be home again. This 2,200 square-foot palace included a large living room, my own office, and exercise room, a private elevator, a dining room, and a full-time butler. You can’t help but tear up passing the Statue of Liberty where so many of my forebears first glimpsed their new homeland.

A brisk eight times around the deck everyday assured me I was getting in my prober two miles' worth of exercise. You don’t get to be my age and still be ready for battle without a lifetime of tough exercise. At the mid-Atlantic, I even spotted a whale spouting and diving and sending his regards.

I managed to put in a vigorous morning of fencing. With “En Garde” a woman let out a blood-curdling scream and charged, attacking at every opportunity. She attacked so aggressively that at one point the safety fell off the tip of her foil and she started poking me in the chest for real. It turned out she was the former captain of the University of Melbourne Woman’s Fencing Team. But I held my own.

Fencing on a ship adds a new element. When you lunge forward and the deck disappears out from under you, the results can be surprising. Next is fighting with sabers. I never know when I might get challenged to a duel.

In London, I made the pilgrimage to the Royal Air Force Museum in Hendon. It turns out I had flown six of the aircraft types on display.

The London Strategy luncheon was a sold-out affair, with ten guests coming from eight countries. We covered every subject under the sun and a half case of French wine made the ultimate sacrifice. Too bad, the private military club banned photos for security reasons.

Even after three trips, the Orient Express never gets old. It’s even more popular now that the train gets destroyed in the latest Mission Impossible movie by, you guessed it, artificial intelligence. I had a three-star diner approaching Paris, breakfast in the Swiss Alps, and lunch in the Italian Lake District. I was positively waddling by the time I got off.

But traveling on a 100-year-old train has its adventures. A shocked couple discovered that they needed passports to get into the EC post-Brexit, so we were all turned back at the border. A flash flood washed out the tracks behind us. So just ten minutes short of Venice they moved the Orient Express onto a siding, detached the engine, and sent it to help with emergency repairs. As it passed, I thought “There goes our engine.” In recompense, we were offered all the free Champaign we could drink until it returned four hours later.

We finally arrived at a steamy and torrid Venice at midnight, the streets absolutely packed with tourists of countless nationalities and every restaurant full.

TO BE CONTINUED.

To watch the Macy's Fourth of July fireworks display grand finale, please click here. Turn your volume up for maximum effect.

 

With a 1949 Lockheed Constellation

 

New York City Department of Records

 

At Home Again on the Queen Mary II

 

En Garde!

 

Making Progress

 

On the Fantail