Showing posts with label Italy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Italy. Show all posts

Ragazzi Report: a guest post from Mom

Beyond the impossible and astonishing beauty of the places Julia and I visited, what made our trip all and more than I had hoped for was the people, or as Julia and I came to call them, “the ragazzi”.  

In Rome we sat among the hoards of Italians who, shaking two open hands at the giant screen in the Borghese Gardens (set up by the FIFA Fan Fest for viewing the World Cup) lamented a missed shot on goal. 


Or the two-dozen tango dancers we happened upon late at night - seamlessly changing partners and performing the intricate and exquisite choreography of tango - in a breezeway on a quiet street.


Entering a tailor‘s shop in Naples to look at the beautiful bolts of wool suiting, Julia tried to explain that I too was a “tailor” from NY and could we take a picture?  Nodding, the gentleman asked me to write down my phone number, which seemed weird, but assuming the odds of him calling were pretty slim, I complied thinking it must be his way of assuring that our intentions were honorable.  After further attempts at communication, we realized why he wanted my number.  He thought I was looking for a job!


Oh so many people in Amalfi: our Australian fellow travelers who invited us for a drink on their palatial terrace cantilevered over the Mediterranean, and whose 10 year old daughter Maisie was enchanted by Julia (but who isn’t?); Marco, the host/waiter/owner/ of our favorite Amalfi café.  He’s a phys-ed teacher who owns the adjacent bed and breakfast (rated the number 1 B&B by Trip Advisor!) He explained to us that he is “the mind” and his wife is “the muscle” in their business- this as she was in perpetual motion, serving, clearing, cleaning while he sat with us, watching the American soccer team (in less than top form that day), endlessly ribbing us with the comment “they play well,  these Americans, eh?”;  and, our guide to historical Amalfi, Michelangelo.  A hydrant of a man who explained that what we commonly identify as a Maltese cross originated in Amalfi and beseeched us to henceforth use it’s correct name, the Amalfi cross. Oh, and did you know that the medical school in ancient Amalfi was the first place to accept women? And not just as students, but also as professors!  And that Flavio Gioja, a man from Amalfi, is the real inventor of the  compass, because only after he made a sea compass in the 14th century was the 2nd century Chinese invention of the regular-old compass made useful.  He also told us the pier in the pivotal ancient port of Amalfi was 12 km wide and extended 3 km into the sea… Here we invoke Gertrude Stein’s famous comment… “Interesting if true”.

Maisie shared her favorite kind of candy with Julia



Michelangelo

And then there was Rina of Villa Rina Country House – she’s an adorable, compact bundle of energy, enthusiasm and culinary wizardry.  She welcomed us like family and treated us to the tastes of the sea, her garden and… her freezer where she kept her stash of homemade limoncello and blackberry liqueurs.  And I must mention Macho, her cautious cat, and Bonney, her German shepherd whose major pastimes are terrorizing Macho and playing with one of the huge lemons from Rina’s grove of lemon trees.  All of this, hundreds, yes, hundreds of steps above the Mediterranean Sea (where Rina swims daily).  For us it was simply the stairway to heaven.  The view was breathtaking - houses, gardens and hotels defying gravity in their perches on the cliffs, the shocking pink of lush bougainvillea spilling over walls and rocks, and the blue, blue sea. 

The view from Rina's terrace

On to the town of Lecce, in the Puglia region.  By day, Lecce is a sleepy ancient town filled with magnificently carved marble buildings and churches.  By night it turns into Times Square on New Years Eve!  Masses of people, crowding every piazza, street and alley, every restaurant and café.

Lecce ragazzi

A short drive outside of Lecce is Squinzano where we had the unique good fortune to take a cooking class with sisters Cinzia and Marika at their culinary school Stile Mediterraneo.  Cinzia a Harvard MBA who lived in New York and worked at Goldman Sachs! She now runs the the cooking school and is a professional olive oil taster (She taught us how to do it!). Marika is an MD, and when she is not working at the hospital, she assists Cinzia.  Beautiful, eloquent, cultured and sooo smart, these remarkably warm and hospitable women shared their passion for local foods and slow cooking, as well as their time honored family recipes.  We were also treated to lemon granita made from the fruit of their grandmother’s lemon trees and pear jam made from yup, grandma’s pears.

Cinzia and Marika, our fearless leaders!
more photos from the cooking class here

Arriving in Greece we received a five minute language tutorial from the man in the tourism office, getting the basics of “good morning” (kalimera) “thank you”  (efkharisto) and a swear word we had to promise we’d never utter.   Then, we met our bored (?) tired (?) receptionist in Athens. When I called from the room to ask him for the Wi-Fi password, told me to come down and get it.  And our Athenian fave, Stella. She works in her sister Ionna’s shop selling fabulously versatile clothing designed by Ioanna.  She took us under her wing and spent a long while showing us how each garment can be worn in a variety of ways (so one garment serves many purposes) and shared her “I only tell friends about this place” favorite Athens restaurant.  

In Santorini we were greeted by Vassily, the crazy Bulgarian who roots for the Argentina soccer team and whose wife cleans rooms while he lunches with a strikingly beautiful young woman.  But the star of Santorini was Dmitri, the manager of Alta Mare.  First because he rescued us from having to stay in a hellhole, but mostly because his love for and knowledge of the island were exceeded only by his charming demeanor and personalized advice on where to go and what to do.

It was difficult to leave these enchanted places and I hope I can make good on my vow to return to each of our destinations (except Naples - ugh).  But hardest of all to leave…  was Julia.  A wise and intrepid traveler, a superb photographer, a hilarious, supportive and agreeable companion, we journeyed together seamlessly.  I love her beyond the ends of the earth and my fondest wish is to return, with both Maddy and Julia to all of these places, and all of these people, and to love it all over again. 

I'm all for Amalfi

If it feels like I've had a stream of nonstop visitors...I have.  And it's wonderful! Mom arrived this week and we've made it from Rome to Amalfi in the course of a 2-week trip together.  A bit longer in Rome and then off to Greece where, rumor has it, we can ride donkeys. 


I don't want to forget my incredible-beyond-words several days in Tuscany...watching Italy play Paraguay at Fifa Fan Village in Villa Borghese...Naples (well, maybe I could forget Naples)...and our firecracker of a hostess Rina at Villa Rina here in Amalfi.  I will write more about them later.  

Meanwhile, I must say that Amalfi itself strikes me as highly improbable.  It is a place out of a zany storybook - pebble beaches, near-misses on drives along perilous cliffs, and buildings that stack up like staircases glued onto the cliffside.    

Today we spent the morning in Ravello, looking at beautiful (albeit a bit British) gardens...and the afternoon in Amalfi, watching "Mundial" (the World Cup!).

Tomorrow, off to Lecce!





Siena

Tutto bene

I’ve been promising a newsy blog post for a while now, and what better time to write one than in the breezy pre-breakfast hours of a Tuscan morning. I sit on the steps of the home of Diane, a childhood friend of my dad's; she lives and farms here with her partner Dieter and their adorable Gordon Setter, Gordon (!), who lies patiently at my feet waiting, just waiting for me to throw a stick.

A few days ago I posted about my departure from Rome for this place with some ambivalence; now I’m sure it was exactly the right thing to do.

“How,” one Miss Ali Schechter beseeches, Facebookishly, “did you get to Italy already?” My response: “Very easy. One 11 hour Aeroflot flight to Moscow, seated next to a Vietnamese septuagenarian who's never been on an airplane before and needs help with his seatbelt (I helped him!), with cranky flight attendants wearing orange lipstick. Then a 2 hour layover in Moscow airport where the only restaurant open is a TGIFridays. Then a delightfully short 4-hour flight from Moscow to Rome! Easy peasey.” After spending just under a month in Southeast Asia, I found myself longing for many things: not being stared at as I walked down the street (gasp) alone…paying the same price as the locals, and not a “special” astronomically higher tourist price, for anything and everything…weather that allowed me to walk at a normal pace without literally dripping sweat unto the sidewalk below…pasta…

All attempts at clever writing aside, I am learning as I go what this trip is about, and that means learning the difference between challenging myself to be in/stay in/seek out uncomfortable situations and challenging myself to change: “Self, you are gong to do something different now.” (To any PACIE reading this, I can’t help but imagine Martie, calling upon Monty Python, saying, “and now for something completely different!”)
So without much fanfare my plane landed in Rome, and I boarded the train for Ostiense Station (Termini is sooooo for tourists), and I met my fantastic CS host and his friends and we – yep, you guessed it, stayed out til 4am local time, dancing. That’s 10am Vietnam time, which would mean that I should’ve been exhausted, except I don’t believe in jet lag.

The next few days I spent wandering the streets and laughing, out loud, at the sheer Italian-ness of Italy. In front of thousand-years-old buildings, the buildings’ architects’' great-great-great-great-etc. grandchildren, gesticulate wildly, their towering mound of gelato in one hand coming perilously close to toppling from its dubious perch atop a tiny cone. A Vespa roars down an alley, slows, and stops next to a Franciscan friar who gives the driver directions. The Coliseum…is.

I had time to spare while waiting for mom who is meeting me in Rome on the 14th, so when Diane wrote that I could hop on the train to her Tuscan villa/working farm…I did! Correction: I know I said the train cost 10.55 Euros, but actually…it was 9.40! (Thank you again, Ostiense Station.)

So I show up Diane and Dieter and Gordon the dog greet me, welcome me to their should-be-in-a-magazine-perfect home, give me a towel and a bicycle and point me in the direction of the beach. I meditate under the slanting rays of Italian sunshine that are unlike any rays of sunshine anywhere. We have dinner and drive into Marina di Grosseto for the best gelato I’ve ever tasted. I sleep like a baby.

Day 2 in paradise: “Do you want to go to Siena or Florence?” Well! I’d never been to Siena. The Duomo there is huge and gorgeous, and I was literally moved to tears by the beauty of the Biblioteca di Piccolomini. Wandering out the back door of the Cathedral Museum, a display of tiny, 2-inch-square watercolors caught my eye. The little, brightly-lit cave of a shop was filled with the original artwork of, according to the business card, Silvia Tanganelli. “Are you the artist?” I asked the woman sitting behind the desk. She was. I told her how much I loved the little paintings. And the big ones. And asked her to translate a few of the ellipses-enclosed one-liners that she’d scribed in pencil below the images. “Perhaps you can help me translate? I want to do also in English some paintings.” So we sat, for hours, discussing the most appropriate poetic version of things that sound much better in Italian than they would translated literally into English. “Anche noi” – literally, “also us” – became, after much debate, “We are with you.” Silvia bought me lunch and wrapped up a few of her paintings and we said our farewells.

Then I went and lay under an olive tree and watched the clouds pass for an hour.

And now I will go and find Ticciano (sp?), the manager of this magical place, and, if I understood correctly, learn to make mozzarella. If this is a dream, let me sleep just a little longer…

With love and cheese.
Julia

Saying yes

Or perhaps I am saying si...

Today I will board a train for Grosseto, to work at a villa where no one speaks English (I bought an 'I Speak Italian' phrasebook yesterday).  The ticket is 10.55 Euros, so why not.

I will try to collect and organize my thoughts on the train and post them later.  This blog has been great, because it kickstarts the motivation to process and share, and that in turn helps me understand what the heck I'm doing!

All in due time.
Julia

YMCA in the EU

Late last night I arrived in Rome...met my CouchSurfing host...dropped my bags...and accompanied him and a group of friends to a decidedly non-tourist disco in Transancho.  Good music, good people.  The evening turned into early morning, ending with everyone singing and dancing the YMCA.  I laughed a lot.

A longer post is brewing in me, telling you all about leaving Asia...why Rome...etc. etc.  For now, a Roman barbeque calls.

With love and my first stamp on this trip from a country I've already been to,
Julia