New Year's In Italy

Carefully wading through the sea of empty prosecco bottles covering the street, we made our way towards the stage.  The music was pumping, and the crowd was dancing away and singing in unison.  It was 2am, and the party was just starting to get good.  I was standing with a few hundred Italians under the bright, almost full moon, and no other tourist was in sight.  On cue, the crowds' arms stretched up to the sky, forming a giant Y shape towards the heavens.  Was this some sort of ancient Roman cult ritual?  No, it was January 1st, and we were all dancing to The Village People, who were having fun at the...YMCA!

Speeding through the Apennine mountains in the rental car from the Medieval hill town fortress of Gubbio in Northern Umbria to the Adriatic Coast along the Via Flaminia, time was of the essence.  The Via Flaminia is the 2,200-year-old Roman road that leads from the centre of Rome through the mountainous regions of Umbria, The Marche and then to Rimini in Emilia-Romagna.  I had spent several days in Umbria leisurely following the Via Flaminia, but on New Year's Eve, I was to arrive at my "Sista From Anotha Mista," Giulia.  Giulia was waiting for me to arrive at her home in Riccione to spend our New Year's Eve in true Italian style.  
For information on the Via Flaminia, I found an excellent blog that will take you along the ancient road all the way from Rome to Rimini.  Also, most of all, the tourist offices in the towns along the Via Flaminia have maps and information you just can't find online.

Hitting the coast in Fano was quite a contrast from the snow-covered mountains of Umbria.  Not only the geography, but the buildings all seemed so....new. I expected Fano and Pesaro to look less modern than ancient Roman towns, but then again, these are swanky beach resorts for the Bolognese in the summer months.



My excitement was growing; not only did I get to see my best buddy, but we got to spend my first New Year's in Italy!  I had no idea what to expect.  I thought perhaps there were some weird Italian customs like my German family traditions, where we had to get up on a chair or coffee table during the countdown for the New Year and literally JUMP INTO the New Year!  I grew up thinking everyone did that...

Arriving in Riccione, Giulia was cooking up the customary huge Italian dinner of muscles in wine, pasta, and local fish that had just been caught earlier that morning! It was all excellent, and I thought this sumptuous dinner was the main event of the evening. However, approaching 11:00, Guilia announced that it was time to change and head to downtown Riccione for the big party!  YAAAAAAAS!



I scrambled into my "fancy" clothes, piled into the rental car and headed into Riccione's downtown area.  Riccione's superstar status is only about 80 years old.   Yes, there are some Roman ruins and ancient churches.  Still, Riccione is internationally known for its gorgeous seaside hotels, 5-star restaurants, expensive shops, famous nightclubs and some of the Adriatic's best beaches.  This is the legendary Riviera Romagnola, and the party never stops in Riccione.
The parking Gods smiled down on us, and we arrived at the hotel where Giulia's family stayed for the night.  We were lucky enough to meet Guila's family that night, including her Papa (let me tell you, this man has more energy than Giulia and I put together!).  Giulia's family is a part of Riccione's modern history, being owners of one of the first discotheques in the Savioli area. Giulia's Mom was also a DJ in a disco in the 1970s, one of Italy's first trailblazing women DJs.  These discotheques became famous and put Riccione on the map as the party capital of the Riviera Romagnola.

The prosecco was chilled and poised to pop, and desserts arrived at our table.  The next thing you know, it was 2018!  There was no countdown to midnight, like in North America.  The only way we knew it was New Year was the burst of dozens of prosecco corks popping throughout the hotel lobby and the shouts of "Auguri," which is a generic Italian saying meaning "well wishes" or "congratulations."  The whole family exchanged kisses, and  I was practicing speaking Italian, wishing everyone a "Buon Anno," which is "happy year," when I noticed many giggles of delight.  I asked Giulia what is wrong with my "Buon Anno"?  Apparently, anno is pronounced "ann-no," NOT "ano," and I had wished people a happy butthole all night.  Ah, great; well, I do hope people have happy buttholes in 2018, too!

Walking the White Carpet

Snow TeePee!

Usually, on New Year's, I would be ready for bed at 12:05, but not in Italy, of course.  We stepped outside to see the tail end of the fireworks in almost every town in Italy at midnight on New Year's.  It was a mild night perfect for walking, so the whole family headed to the main drag in Riccione, Viale Dante, to do our first "Passeggiata" of the New Year.  

TIP: A passeggiata in Italy is a leisurely stroll in the evening where you just walk up and down the main streets of a town and check out the scene.  You can do "vasche" or laps along the promenade for hours, just people-watching.


Riccione quickly became a winter wonderland, so to speak, as we passed through a giant glowing snow teepee and followed the snow path (the white fabric-lined street) past the palm trees and the twinkling lights to the central Piazza where there was a big stage set up.  Here is where it became "dangerous."   We were literally wading through an ankle-deep sea of empty prosecco bottles in high-heeled shoes towards the large crowd of folks gathered around the stage booming dance music.  It was a fantastic sight to behold; people of all ages, kids, teens, and grandparents, all having a great time.  Then, all of a sudden, a familiar song came on, and the whole crowd was rocking out to the Village People singing the YMCA!  We slid right into the sea of revellers and blended in with all the happy Italian party-goers, and it was one of those surreal moments when time stands still because you just can't believe how lucky you are to be in Italy with your best friend on New Year's!

CANDY!!!!

We decided to continue our passeggiata to an area with all the designer stores...Armani, Dolce & Gabbana, Versace.  All the shops were dolled up for the holidays, displaying mannequins in flashy club gear.  We passed by small stalls selling mulled wine, snacks and candy.  To my utter amazement, there was a small covered arcade area with kids skating AT ....2 A.M!  Back home on New Year's, I'm usually in bed at the same hour as the pre-schoolers, but here in Italy, the action never stops!  Mamma Mia!

The Saviolina

The river Melo flows through the middle of Riccione and runs into a beautiful harbour at the ocean.  There are plenty of restaurants at the pier and along the 3 km-long promenade built along the beach for pedestrians and cyclists to enjoy.  To learn more about the resort town of Riccione, visit their excellent website in English here.  We saw Giulia's historic family boat The Saviolina parked near a bridge crossing the Rio Melo it was donated to the city of Riccione as a part of her family's historical legacy.


Ultimately, I let the Italian seniors and toddlers beat me at the New Year's game.  At 3 am I had to call it quits, even though the streets were still full of people partying like it was 1999.  We all returned to the hotel where our night had started for *one more drink*, and I practiced my "Buon Anno" on people, this time without the bemused looks!  If this night was any indicator of the year ahead, then 2018 would prove to be a smashing year!


Best wishes to everyone for a prosperous and peaceful 2025, and may your travel dreams come true.🌠

Check out the Street Party In Riccione on New Years:

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Original post 03/2018

Storytime-Haunted B&B In Ontario!

Ghostly sightings are not usually part of your travel experience, but occasionally, you are bound to run into something that goes bump in the night...

The Creepy Ruined Rock Of Cashel, Ireland

Our travels often take us to ancient places that have been the scene of a bloody battle, a burial site or some other historical tragedy.  From castles to churches, megaliths to burial mounds, we can get a spooky feeling in a dungeon or an early Christian catacomb.  As tourists, we often know the history of the place we are visiting; therefore, we know that many people may have died precisely where we are standing today.  You almost expect to feel the hair stand up on the back of your neck when visiting a 3,000-year-old burial chamber in Ireland, an Etruscan necropolis in Tuscany, or an old ruined castle.


What you don't expect is a romantic getaway to a quaint Inn to turn into a ghostly encounter!  There were no castles, no graveyards, no buildings with a tragic past...or so I thought.  





It was 2007, and my family was in Ontario for a surprise Christmastime visit to my mother-in-law in the Kitchener area. Between Christmas and New Year's Eve, my husband and I decided to leave our 6-year-old son with Granny overnight and have a much-needed romantic weekend. Searching online, my husband found a Victorian mansion that had become a B&B in Owen Sound, about a three-hour drive north of Kitchener.  

Highland Manor B&B

We packed our overnight bags and took off in our rental car. The drive to Owen Sound from Kitchener was beautiful.  We took country roads that meandered past brick farmhouses and through small Ontario villages.  It was lightly snowing, and we were in the Yuletide spirit, listening to carols on the car radio and stopping for eggnog lattes along the way.  We arrived in Owen Sound just as it was beginning to get dark, and the main street was lit up in Christmas lights and seasonal greenery.  We made our way up to West Hill, which overlooks Owen Sound and pulled up to our bed and breakfast.  The Highland Manor Inn is a stately 1872 Victorian manor house with beautiful arched windows and a wrap-around verandah.
The owners, Paul and Linda, met us upon our arrival, checked us in, and then took us up a sweeping grande curved staircase that ascended 40 feet to the second floor.  Our bedroom room was the "Ross Room," named after the original owners. The room was bright and inviting, with a romantic bedside fireplace that we were enthusiastic to light that evening.  I asked the owners of the B&B to recommend a restaurant to us for our dinner that night, and they kindly called to make reservations at a little steak house down the hill.  The restaurant was nearly booked that evening, but they squeezed us in late for a late meal.  

The Ross Room

That gave me plenty of time to freshen up for dinner and explore some of the Highland Manor's grand common rooms, all decorated in exquisite Victorian Christmas decor. My favourite place was the music room, which sat to the right of the curved central staircase. With its 1902 grand piano and open design, I could imagine the Victorian dinner parties that would have taken place here.  
When we returned to the Highland Manor from our dinner, it was nearly 11pm.  Belly full, I decided to go back down to the main floor and enjoy the architecture and decor of the library, which was across from the music room.  Shortly after, my husband came downstairs to join me, and we quietly chatted and thumbed through books and magazines in the library. The lights of the ten foot tall Christmas tree glowed in the dim lighting of the hall, and the house was still, except for the ticking and chiming of a grandfather clock. 

Just after the clock tolled midnight, a strange thing occurred.  What felt like a cold breeze came spilling down the staircase. It was as if someone had opened a door or window at the top of the stairs.  There was also a distinct and overpowering scent of pine oil cleaning products!  When I say "distinct," I mean it smelled of an old fashioned cleaner like Pine-Sol mixed with bleach, the kind my grandma used to clean her bathroom.  My husband looked at me and asked, "Do you smell that?" to which I replied, "Who would be cleaning at this time of night?" 
Immediately, the room's atmosphere changed, becoming only what I can describe as oppressive, and we felt uncomfortable. It was like there was an urgency to leave the room as if some invisible danger had entered the space.  We decided to turn off the reading light and head to our bedroom.   
Our bedroom felt better.  My husband had the firelog in our room's little fireplace burning, and it was so cozy under the blankets, listening to the winter wind blowing against our windows.  Soon, our romantic evening took another strange turn; I kept hearing a baby crying.  I speculated with my husband that maybe one of the guests had a sick baby, explaining the smell of Pine-Sol cleaning product.  The only problem was that my husband could not hear a baby crying.  I even asked him to poke his head into the hallway to see if he could hear the baby's cries from there.  He heard nothing!  I insisted he walk down the hallway to the other guest bedrooms to see if he could hear a baby crying, but he reported nothing but silence.  Feeling uneasy about the night's events, we decided to go to sleep, drifting off on the heavenly Tempur-Pedic memory foam mattress.  

I slept restlessly for a few hours until, at about 3 am, a noise woke me up.  I heard a creaking sound coming from the direction of the window.  I slowly opened my eyes, adjusting them to the dim glow of the firelight.  In the corner by the window, I saw the shadow of a woman sitting in the rocking chair!  She had a head covering on like a nun or nurse, but her figure was completely backlit by the light from the window, and I could not see any of its features.  This didn't make any sense because I should have seen her face in the firelight since she was facing the bed and the fireplace. My eyes flew open, I sat up, and I reached to turn on my bedside light.  She was gone!  My blood ran cold, and I shook my husband awake.  I told him what I had just seen, and he believed me entirely. He told me he had a feeling of being 'watched' while going to sleep.  I was SO scared that I kept the light on for the rest of the night. I kept waking up and looking at the rocking chair...but it remained empty for the rest of the night.


The following morning, we went down for a delicious breakfast: homebaked scones served with homemade jam and the main breakfast course we had chosen the previous day upon check-in. I looked around the dining room, surprised I didn't see anyone with a baby I had heard crying at night. As he was pouring the coffee, I asked the owner, Paul, if anyone had been cleaning at a late hour the preceding night. "No," he chuckled nervously and then changed the subject.  


After breakfast, while we were lingering over our coffee, I asked Paul and Linda about the house's history.  As far as they knew, the house had been built in 1872 by Mr. Ross, who had come to Canada from Scotland.  Mr. Ross also owned a hotel down by the water in Owen Sound that served the passengers and sailors that came into town on the steamships.  Mr. Ross was unmarried, and no one knows how he had made his fortunes in Scotland. Once Mr. Ross built the Highland Manor, he brought his two spinster sisters, Ethel and Amy, over from Scotland to join him.  After some years, Mr. Ross came into financial hardship, owing substantial debt, and he "disappeared," leaving the two unmarried sisters to fend for themselves.  They eventually had to sell their beloved Highland Manor house and move to Vancouver, on the West Coast of Canada.  The house changed hands several times until it was purchased in 1919 by Miss Moore, who converted the mansion into a private maternity hospital called Miss Moore's. That's right; between 1919 and 1940, over 2,000 births were recorded to have taken place in this house! Indeed, there were also some deaths.
  

Scrooge & Marley by John Leech

When Paul told us about the hospital history at The Highland Manor, a chill ran down my spine.  The cleaning smells, the crying baby, the apparition of the woman in the rocking chair, "watching" me all night long; it made sense now.  The Highland Manor is haunted as F***!!! 👻👻👻 After breakfast, we quickly packed our bags and said our farewells to the owners, who I am pretty sure had an idea of what kind of supernatural occurrences take place in their home.  I guess stating "haunted accommodation in an elegant setting" on their website doesn't sell rooms.
Since I visited The Highland Manor Inn over a decade ago, it has become my Christmas tradition to read Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol" between Christmas and New Year's Eve.  Looking back on my haunted romantic weekend, I appreciate the Victorians' connection with ghost stories at Christmas time.  Christmas is a time of reflection, taking stock of our lives and remembering those living and dead who are no longer with us.  

And what is remembered; LIVES.

Have you had a haunted travel experience?  I would love to hear about it in the comments!

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Originally published 10/30/19