Looking up at the sky, I swear I'm back in my high school planetarium in Pennsylvania watching the ceiling as my Astronomy teacher takes us around the heavens. The stars are so many and so clear. Stunning all around.
But this is to be expected because I am in rural Italy. The closest town is a good 10-15 minute drive away and it's not even that big of a town (less than 2,000 people). The house sits on 75 acres where it happily accommodates 17 cats, three horses, numerous chickens and Lucie and Peter, two Brits in their mid 40s. Never wanting to have children, they directed their love towards animals, especially cats. They are everywhere. But all kind and sweet, each with different personalities (as I type this, Pip, the softest kitten ever, sits on my lap).
I have been in the house two nights and I already know that this stay will be quite different from my last host. I couldn't put my finger on it until I got here as to what I felt was wrong with the last host stay. There was such a disconnection between everyone in the house and most of all, it seemed to lacking joy. Not this house. Between Peter, Sue and Rob (two other helpers from the UK), someone is always cracking a joke or laughing out loud. Rob and Sue have to be some of the happiest people I have ever met. You would never know that are completely bankrupt and carry everything they own in their suitcases. Having lost everything in a business gone bad in New Zealand, they are forced to travel doing HelpX as a way to stay afloat until they sort out matters. In their mid 50s, you would think there would be some sort of stress on their face, but no, they seem to be having the time of their lives.
For anyone that knows me, they know that I can't stand being cold. That is a serious problem here since the temperatures have started to drop, making it only to the mid 50s during the day and down into the low forties at night, sometimes lower. The first frost came just today. The source of heat for us is one I am getting used to - two wood burning stoves that if not lit, we have no hot water in the sinks and showers, and no heat anywhere in the house. Let's hope we don't run out of wood, shall we? Additionally, every day water needs to be pumped up from the well that sits on the property so that we have water at all. Did I mention I'm in rural Italy?
The thing about that though, is that this house is cozy and full of love. Granted, it is a bit weird to have 17 cats, but it seems to suit them quite well and in turn makes staying here a happy place to be. Being here has also cleared my head a bit and I feel better than I did in Florence. Something about listing to jazz by a wood stove, drinking wine while cats sleep cozily around you puts you in a good state of mind. To that end, I have planned out the last of my trip overseas. This weekend I head to Cinque Terre, a region of Italy everyone has demanded I see. It's only a day "walkabout" trip, but it's my best shot at seeing the whole area without committing too much time to it. Next week I will be heading to some smaller Tuscan towns while the following two weekends hold local festivals that all of us in the house will be attending.
At the end of my stay here outside Arezzo, I have decided to take in some sights other than Italy. Being that the temperatures will continue to drop and I really do not have the clothes to bundle up adequately, I have decided to head south to Athens, Greece. I'll be there part of the last full week I'm in Europe and then will head back to Rome to finish out my Italian days. I land in Philadelphia on Tuesday, November 23rd and have Thanksgiving dinner with my family that Thursday. A flight to Austin on Friday and then nothing. A blank page to fill.
Well, after a margarita and veggie nachos at Polvo's.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
A Three Hour Tour
My mother says that from the pictures she's seeing on Facebook, she thinks I may be losing weight. Whatever imaginary weight I may or may not have lost has been totally nullified by the meal I just had at La Giostra. It's 11:17 and the bill has just arrived with a total cost of 37 euros. 37 euros!! How did that happen!?!
La Giostra is nestled in this small side street off of one of the more major roads in Florence. Given to me as a "must" place by a very good friend of mine who's taste in food I respect, I decided to try it out. Friday night Sally and I had tried to walk in just as it had opened it's doors at 7pm without a reservation. "Full until 9pm, sorry." I knew that restaurants filled up on the weekend quickly, but there was no one there so I didn't understand the problem. Until tonight.
I had made sure to call ahead this time, which seemed silly for one person (Sally had left Florence that morning for Naples) but I decided to play the safe route. "8pm. Solo. Si. See you then."
I get ready at my hotel, donning the best outfit I have. A turtleneck I had thrown in my suitcase at the last minute, thinking there was no way I was ever going to need it - yeah, right - a grey, soft mid thigh jacket-sweater, and a cream scarf. Everyone in Italy wears scarves, all the time. You can tell what is important to them by walking through the markets - belts, purses and scarves. Everything else, who cares.
I grab my only pair of jeans and unlike my European counterpartrs who don amazingly beautiful boots of all heights and colors, I am forced to put on my Merrills shoes. The Merrills that have trounced through dog shit, pig shit, goat shit and rabbit shit. Oh yes, I feel fancy.
In an attempt to offset my sub par foot wear, I put on mascara as well as the usual eye shadow and liner. I never put on mascara unless I'm tying to feel extra special or to look good for my date. Going out for dinner alone, you do all these things for yourself. The makeup, the straightened but still slightly wavy hair, the scarf adjusted just so to help me blend in rather than scream tourist who doesn't speak Italian. There is no one here to impress, no one to bat eyelashes at, no one to appreciate anything you have to offer other than you, yourself and you. Dressing up makes me feel a bit more human, a bit more like myself.
I set off from the hotel with lots of time to spare just in case I get lost. I've walked around Florence quite a lot in the 31 hours I've been here and have a gotten a good lay of the land. Still, I feel better knowing there a complementary map folded up in my pocket. I overestimate how long it takes for me to walk there and arrive by 7:40. I walk around for a few minutes waiting until 7:45, hoping they will let me in a few minutes early.
The 7:30 crowd has already been seated and I realize immediately that this would be listed in tour books as "an ideal romantic restaurant for couples, complete with candlelight." Well crap. Eating alone surrounded by couples. AWESOME. I could turn back now, I'm sure they wouldn't care. One more table to sit TWO people at rather than just one. But no, I'm going to stick this thing out. This food had better be amazing or my "very good friend" is going to get chewed out on the phone in the near future for sending me here.
Seated in the back, there are several couples around me. I can tell that having a single eater sitting next to them is making an American couple well within ear shot uncomfortable. They know I can hear their every word and it isn't until their wine starts flowing that they start to talk more openly. For me though, and everyone else, the night starts out with a complementary glass of procsecco and a complementary plate of hors d'oeuvre, usually to be split between two people, but I get this all to myself. Alright, maybe I won't kill my friend quite yet, she's bought her self a little extra time.
I've gotten by with mostly Italian, but when it comes to ordering, I have no idea what to get. I ask the waiter in english for recommendations and he rattles things off quite quickly, but I hear one of them has something to do with a lot of cheese and the other is pear ravioli. Those both sound good to me. And to drink? Well, actually, can I just have another glass of prosecco? I was in the Uffizi museum earlier today (not the one with the David, the other one with the Madonna) and had a glass of prosecco to celebrate myself, why stop now?
The waiter seems to wave it off like it's not even an order, saying he'll take care of it. Not sure what that means until he comes back with a bottle that has been used to fill other diner's complementary glasses but still has a good two glasses left in it. He fills my flute to the brim and after inspecting the bottle, says something about there not being that much left and leaves the bottle on my table. Well alrighty then.
After scarfing down my plate of complementary appetizers, the cheese plate I ordered has arrived. A bowl of cheese that isn't quite like mozzarella - it's light and creamery and slightly stringy - is the main event with sides of sliced grapefruit, walnuts, pine nuts, jam and honey, all to be made into different delectable combinations with the cheese. And delictable it is. Again, a plate to be shared between two people, I scarf it down myself.
While I eat, I tune into the conversations around me. The two couples flanking me could not be more different. To my right, newlyweds who go from periods of long silence to talking about their GPAs and where he should go for his next degree. I hear them say A&M in Galveston, and my ears perk up. Then they discuss Univesity of Texas at Austin, but dismiss it saying it's all medical there - I'm guessing they've never been to Austin. I think about interjecting but that would be admitting that I had been listening in and it sounds like they have just forgotten that I am sitting there, so who knows what good stuff they may get to talking about.
The other couple near by is the complete opposite. They chat away without a lull in their conversation. I can't help but think about the man on the bus to Amalfi giving his theory about couples that go through meals without speaking. This couple clearly had a lot to talk about. And, it turns out, it's their 40th wedding anniversary and they are traveling Europe celebrating his retirement. The discuss their daughter, the food, their neighbors - not that I'm listening or anything.
All of this around me has me missing home. A daughter and her parents are seated to my diagonal right and I wonder what it would be like if my parents were here with me right now. I'm sure they would know what to think, but I wish they were here. Or my friends. All of the wine and cheese snobs would love this place. And with that I have come to a very clear realization that has been germinating in my head for days now. While this trip is a really interesting experience, it isn't a lot of FUN. There's no one to share things with and without someone else here, it's just not the same. I can't imagine the amazing time I would have had on this trip if I had a friend or a boyfriend to share it with. I don't regret the decision to take this trip, but I wouldn't do it again. So to pass the time I make a list of the things I miss most about being home. About being around the people who make my life fun, the ones that make me laugh. (see list below)
To lighten the mood more food has arrived. I'm pretty full, but I must give it the college try and press on though this lovely dish of ravioli, a dish that looks more like yellow pillows sent from heaven than pasta.
At this point the prosecco is gone and I figure I'll have one glass of red before calling it a night. I grab the waiter's attention, but he assumes I just want more prosecco. Ok then, let the celebration continue. Again, he brings a bottle, fills up my glass and leaves the bottle. I swear, people take pity on you when you dine alone, which I am more than happy to take advantage of.
Another waiter, the strangest of strange, has been milling about helping other tables when he turns his attention to me. In his late 30s with scruffy shoulder length brown hair, a pair of 80's white sunglasses tucked on the top of his head and more bracelets than I can count down both arms, he is not someone that you miss. You can hear him coming, jingling bracelets as soon as he leaves the kitchen. He asks me in Italian if I would like some cheers for my ravioli, which I say yes to and then he proceeds to babble to me in Italian. I put on my standard deer in headlights face that is typical for me when this happens (when you speak Italian to Italians, they assume you can understand their response) and tell him I only speak a little Italian. He switches easily over to English and says, "Are you ok princess, anything else I can get you?" Princess. Princess? In the US this would have irritated me to no end, but in Italy it seems somewhat endearing. I thank him but tell him no, I'm fine and proceed to carefully work my way through the plate in front of me. After a good 30 minutes of slowly eating with purpose, I finish the dish and take a look at my watch. 10pm. Eesh. I thought I would have been back at the hotel by now, but it's just turning to limencello time. I'll be home by 11, surely. The two tables with the couples have already turned over by this point which I find mildly amusing. How does a person eating by herself outlast a couple who could be savoring so much of what is around them? I still don't know the answer.
The tables are replaced with two American women at one and two Italian women at another. No more couples thankfully. The table with the daughter and the parents have also turned over, replacing it with three young men who are now just siting down to eat. At 10:15. I don't get how this works, but apparently the restaurant will be seating people until midnight. I order my limencello to expedite the process - I mean, I have been here for over 2 hours already alone, it's time to wrap it up. The waiter brings the bottle of limencello and pours me a small standard glass. And what do you think he did with the bottle? Yup, he left it there. "Have as much as you like," he says. Are you insane? This stuff is 40 proof! But ok, don't mind if I do. I still have the prosecco bottle on my table as well as the water bottle. Between the three bottles, I look like a raging alcoholic. Sitting by myself with numerous bottles of various liquid. Lovely.
I finish my glass and have a very small amount more. The waiter comes back around and fills my glass again. Oh good god people, what is it with Italians and trying to get me drunk?! He comes around a third time and I stop him from adding anymore and ask for the check.
I start to do the numbers in my head. A glass of prosecco in the States would be $7 so that means about 5 euro and I had four, approximately. And then limencello. Another 5 or 6, at least. Two bottles of water at 2 euro each, the service charge of 3 euro and then the actual meal, 14 euro for the cheese dish and 18 euro for the ravioli. That's approximately 67 euro. Humph. That's not cheap, but it's 11:15 and I've been here for almost 3.5 hours, at a table by myself eating delicious food and drinking wonderful wine and spirits. And it's not like I'm doing this often in Italy, so I can indulge the the higher cost. A little wooden box with the check inside comes and there is the completely unexpected number of 37 euro.
I pay the bill leaving a little extra to say thanks and attempt to breathe in my now very tight jeans. I feel like everyone is watching me getting up, watching the person who came to the restaurant eating alone. Why is she alone? And why would she come out in public? All of these irrational accusations go running through my head, but I know they are completely exaggerated and unrealistic. This is my obsession with being alone, not theirs.
I wrap myself in my coat, adjust my scarf to keep the cold from winding its way down my neck into my jacket and set off for the hotel. 11:30 and the town is just coming alive. Bars and gelatarias are packed, everyone is filling the streets for the start to a typical Saturday night in Florence. Me? I'm headed back to a queen bed in a room that barely fits it, to my iPad where Facebook will tell me about all of the goings-on in people's lives for the day and to knowing that tomorrow I will leave for Arezzo, home to my third and final host in Italy. My stay is coming into its final chapters and (unlike my previous more bold and steadfast Half n Half post) that is just fine with me.
La Giostra is nestled in this small side street off of one of the more major roads in Florence. Given to me as a "must" place by a very good friend of mine who's taste in food I respect, I decided to try it out. Friday night Sally and I had tried to walk in just as it had opened it's doors at 7pm without a reservation. "Full until 9pm, sorry." I knew that restaurants filled up on the weekend quickly, but there was no one there so I didn't understand the problem. Until tonight.
I had made sure to call ahead this time, which seemed silly for one person (Sally had left Florence that morning for Naples) but I decided to play the safe route. "8pm. Solo. Si. See you then."
I get ready at my hotel, donning the best outfit I have. A turtleneck I had thrown in my suitcase at the last minute, thinking there was no way I was ever going to need it - yeah, right - a grey, soft mid thigh jacket-sweater, and a cream scarf. Everyone in Italy wears scarves, all the time. You can tell what is important to them by walking through the markets - belts, purses and scarves. Everything else, who cares.
I grab my only pair of jeans and unlike my European counterpartrs who don amazingly beautiful boots of all heights and colors, I am forced to put on my Merrills shoes. The Merrills that have trounced through dog shit, pig shit, goat shit and rabbit shit. Oh yes, I feel fancy.
In an attempt to offset my sub par foot wear, I put on mascara as well as the usual eye shadow and liner. I never put on mascara unless I'm tying to feel extra special or to look good for my date. Going out for dinner alone, you do all these things for yourself. The makeup, the straightened but still slightly wavy hair, the scarf adjusted just so to help me blend in rather than scream tourist who doesn't speak Italian. There is no one here to impress, no one to bat eyelashes at, no one to appreciate anything you have to offer other than you, yourself and you. Dressing up makes me feel a bit more human, a bit more like myself.
I set off from the hotel with lots of time to spare just in case I get lost. I've walked around Florence quite a lot in the 31 hours I've been here and have a gotten a good lay of the land. Still, I feel better knowing there a complementary map folded up in my pocket. I overestimate how long it takes for me to walk there and arrive by 7:40. I walk around for a few minutes waiting until 7:45, hoping they will let me in a few minutes early.
The 7:30 crowd has already been seated and I realize immediately that this would be listed in tour books as "an ideal romantic restaurant for couples, complete with candlelight." Well crap. Eating alone surrounded by couples. AWESOME. I could turn back now, I'm sure they wouldn't care. One more table to sit TWO people at rather than just one. But no, I'm going to stick this thing out. This food had better be amazing or my "very good friend" is going to get chewed out on the phone in the near future for sending me here.
Seated in the back, there are several couples around me. I can tell that having a single eater sitting next to them is making an American couple well within ear shot uncomfortable. They know I can hear their every word and it isn't until their wine starts flowing that they start to talk more openly. For me though, and everyone else, the night starts out with a complementary glass of procsecco and a complementary plate of hors d'oeuvre, usually to be split between two people, but I get this all to myself. Alright, maybe I won't kill my friend quite yet, she's bought her self a little extra time.
I've gotten by with mostly Italian, but when it comes to ordering, I have no idea what to get. I ask the waiter in english for recommendations and he rattles things off quite quickly, but I hear one of them has something to do with a lot of cheese and the other is pear ravioli. Those both sound good to me. And to drink? Well, actually, can I just have another glass of prosecco? I was in the Uffizi museum earlier today (not the one with the David, the other one with the Madonna) and had a glass of prosecco to celebrate myself, why stop now?
The waiter seems to wave it off like it's not even an order, saying he'll take care of it. Not sure what that means until he comes back with a bottle that has been used to fill other diner's complementary glasses but still has a good two glasses left in it. He fills my flute to the brim and after inspecting the bottle, says something about there not being that much left and leaves the bottle on my table. Well alrighty then.
After scarfing down my plate of complementary appetizers, the cheese plate I ordered has arrived. A bowl of cheese that isn't quite like mozzarella - it's light and creamery and slightly stringy - is the main event with sides of sliced grapefruit, walnuts, pine nuts, jam and honey, all to be made into different delectable combinations with the cheese. And delictable it is. Again, a plate to be shared between two people, I scarf it down myself.
While I eat, I tune into the conversations around me. The two couples flanking me could not be more different. To my right, newlyweds who go from periods of long silence to talking about their GPAs and where he should go for his next degree. I hear them say A&M in Galveston, and my ears perk up. Then they discuss Univesity of Texas at Austin, but dismiss it saying it's all medical there - I'm guessing they've never been to Austin. I think about interjecting but that would be admitting that I had been listening in and it sounds like they have just forgotten that I am sitting there, so who knows what good stuff they may get to talking about.
The other couple near by is the complete opposite. They chat away without a lull in their conversation. I can't help but think about the man on the bus to Amalfi giving his theory about couples that go through meals without speaking. This couple clearly had a lot to talk about. And, it turns out, it's their 40th wedding anniversary and they are traveling Europe celebrating his retirement. The discuss their daughter, the food, their neighbors - not that I'm listening or anything.
All of this around me has me missing home. A daughter and her parents are seated to my diagonal right and I wonder what it would be like if my parents were here with me right now. I'm sure they would know what to think, but I wish they were here. Or my friends. All of the wine and cheese snobs would love this place. And with that I have come to a very clear realization that has been germinating in my head for days now. While this trip is a really interesting experience, it isn't a lot of FUN. There's no one to share things with and without someone else here, it's just not the same. I can't imagine the amazing time I would have had on this trip if I had a friend or a boyfriend to share it with. I don't regret the decision to take this trip, but I wouldn't do it again. So to pass the time I make a list of the things I miss most about being home. About being around the people who make my life fun, the ones that make me laugh. (see list below)
To lighten the mood more food has arrived. I'm pretty full, but I must give it the college try and press on though this lovely dish of ravioli, a dish that looks more like yellow pillows sent from heaven than pasta.
At this point the prosecco is gone and I figure I'll have one glass of red before calling it a night. I grab the waiter's attention, but he assumes I just want more prosecco. Ok then, let the celebration continue. Again, he brings a bottle, fills up my glass and leaves the bottle. I swear, people take pity on you when you dine alone, which I am more than happy to take advantage of.
Another waiter, the strangest of strange, has been milling about helping other tables when he turns his attention to me. In his late 30s with scruffy shoulder length brown hair, a pair of 80's white sunglasses tucked on the top of his head and more bracelets than I can count down both arms, he is not someone that you miss. You can hear him coming, jingling bracelets as soon as he leaves the kitchen. He asks me in Italian if I would like some cheers for my ravioli, which I say yes to and then he proceeds to babble to me in Italian. I put on my standard deer in headlights face that is typical for me when this happens (when you speak Italian to Italians, they assume you can understand their response) and tell him I only speak a little Italian. He switches easily over to English and says, "Are you ok princess, anything else I can get you?" Princess. Princess? In the US this would have irritated me to no end, but in Italy it seems somewhat endearing. I thank him but tell him no, I'm fine and proceed to carefully work my way through the plate in front of me. After a good 30 minutes of slowly eating with purpose, I finish the dish and take a look at my watch. 10pm. Eesh. I thought I would have been back at the hotel by now, but it's just turning to limencello time. I'll be home by 11, surely. The two tables with the couples have already turned over by this point which I find mildly amusing. How does a person eating by herself outlast a couple who could be savoring so much of what is around them? I still don't know the answer.
The tables are replaced with two American women at one and two Italian women at another. No more couples thankfully. The table with the daughter and the parents have also turned over, replacing it with three young men who are now just siting down to eat. At 10:15. I don't get how this works, but apparently the restaurant will be seating people until midnight. I order my limencello to expedite the process - I mean, I have been here for over 2 hours already alone, it's time to wrap it up. The waiter brings the bottle of limencello and pours me a small standard glass. And what do you think he did with the bottle? Yup, he left it there. "Have as much as you like," he says. Are you insane? This stuff is 40 proof! But ok, don't mind if I do. I still have the prosecco bottle on my table as well as the water bottle. Between the three bottles, I look like a raging alcoholic. Sitting by myself with numerous bottles of various liquid. Lovely.
I finish my glass and have a very small amount more. The waiter comes back around and fills my glass again. Oh good god people, what is it with Italians and trying to get me drunk?! He comes around a third time and I stop him from adding anymore and ask for the check.
I start to do the numbers in my head. A glass of prosecco in the States would be $7 so that means about 5 euro and I had four, approximately. And then limencello. Another 5 or 6, at least. Two bottles of water at 2 euro each, the service charge of 3 euro and then the actual meal, 14 euro for the cheese dish and 18 euro for the ravioli. That's approximately 67 euro. Humph. That's not cheap, but it's 11:15 and I've been here for almost 3.5 hours, at a table by myself eating delicious food and drinking wonderful wine and spirits. And it's not like I'm doing this often in Italy, so I can indulge the the higher cost. A little wooden box with the check inside comes and there is the completely unexpected number of 37 euro.
I pay the bill leaving a little extra to say thanks and attempt to breathe in my now very tight jeans. I feel like everyone is watching me getting up, watching the person who came to the restaurant eating alone. Why is she alone? And why would she come out in public? All of these irrational accusations go running through my head, but I know they are completely exaggerated and unrealistic. This is my obsession with being alone, not theirs.
I wrap myself in my coat, adjust my scarf to keep the cold from winding its way down my neck into my jacket and set off for the hotel. 11:30 and the town is just coming alive. Bars and gelatarias are packed, everyone is filling the streets for the start to a typical Saturday night in Florence. Me? I'm headed back to a queen bed in a room that barely fits it, to my iPad where Facebook will tell me about all of the goings-on in people's lives for the day and to knowing that tomorrow I will leave for Arezzo, home to my third and final host in Italy. My stay is coming into its final chapters and (unlike my previous more bold and steadfast Half n Half post) that is just fine with me.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Photos - Next Batch
Saturday, October 23, 2010
My Top 15
After having just completed a three hour dinner alone in Florence - details to come later - I have come up with my own "15" list. These types of lists seem prevalent on Facebook about movies, songs or places and so I have concocted my own. The top 15 (kinda personal) things I miss most about being home (in no particular order):
1) Driving my car wherever and whenever I want
2) Tuesday dinners with Waltonian (and her other half for allowing us to do so)
3) My cat Simi (who will finally be allowed to sleep in my bedroom at night when I get back)
4) Conversations spanning all of everything in life with BlueDuke
5) Hitting a solid forehand during tennis practice
6) Weekend mornings with my ex
7) The "L" in my couch where I can just sink in and zone out for a bit
8) Being chatty Kathys with LaceFace
9) Polvo's - and all that comes with it
10) Going anywhere with the Kealeys - they never make you feel like a third wheel and are always awesome to hang out with
11) Being able to clean 100+ lbs at the gym
12) Vixen's honest and no BS advice and LCs unwavering positive attitude
13) Phrogaritas and hearing the two owners latest stories about where they've been and what they've been up to
14) Anything having to do with my family or with my friends back in Philly
15) Warm Austin weather where people put on scarves if it gets below 70
1) Driving my car wherever and whenever I want
2) Tuesday dinners with Waltonian (and her other half for allowing us to do so)
3) My cat Simi (who will finally be allowed to sleep in my bedroom at night when I get back)
4) Conversations spanning all of everything in life with BlueDuke
5) Hitting a solid forehand during tennis practice
6) Weekend mornings with my ex
7) The "L" in my couch where I can just sink in and zone out for a bit
8) Being chatty Kathys with LaceFace
9) Polvo's - and all that comes with it
10) Going anywhere with the Kealeys - they never make you feel like a third wheel and are always awesome to hang out with
11) Being able to clean 100+ lbs at the gym
12) Vixen's honest and no BS advice and LCs unwavering positive attitude
13) Phrogaritas and hearing the two owners latest stories about where they've been and what they've been up to
14) Anything having to do with my family or with my friends back in Philly
15) Warm Austin weather where people put on scarves if it gets below 70
It's As Easy As Riding a Bike
The yellow leaves everywhere send the clear signal that it is autumn in Italy. Not only that, but the highs are hitting maybe 55 degrees with the lows in the low 40s. Despite the favorable weather forecast, our Saturday bike trip to Imola seems destined to be cold and wet.
There are five bikes to choose from. The newest, a Gamma, looks like a standard bike with three gears. With it's fairly new blue paint, the brand name in shiney silver and the considerably reduced amount of rust compared to the rest, this is obviously the newest and best bike to have. Sally has comendeered said bike since it has the best seat, which will suit her bum quite well, she says. Leaving the two bikes with the worst seats to the youngings to deal with - they are only 22 and skinny as rails - they'll fare just fine. This leaves me with a light blue or light green - I can't tell - bike that looks like it was made in the 70s. By the horizontal bar, I can tell it's a men's bike, but the height fits me just fine. If only I had a basket, I could feel like I was completely basking "under the Tuscan sun". With our misfit collection of bikes and just as much a misfit collection of women, we set off for Imola.
It is chilly. The one store we pass signals to us that is 10 C or ... f. I have my Eagles knit cap on, my rain jacket and two different colored socks used as gloves. All bundled up, we trek the easy 40 minute bike ride into Imola, stopping to take picturesque photos and admire where we are.
Imola is a fairly small town and not very touristy, thankfully. We arrive on a Saturday were the market is going on, one very similar to Rogliano. I end up making my first clothes purchase in Italy and then Sally and I decide it's wine o'clock. We have all locked up our bikes, but the youngsters are no where to be found. They must have gotten distracted at one of the market sellers, so we set off in search of wine.
We settle into a cafe and have a few glasses with complementary crostinis. We chat about what life is like for each of us back home, what we miss, what we hope to do in the future, and what we've experienced so far on our trips. Sally hopes to someday buy a large plot of land in New Zealand and renovate it to become a home stay. She has the land all picked out, she's just trying to convince her husband to take the plunge and move from Perth back to her native country. After about an hour or so of people watching and talking, we roam around Imola for awhile before deciding to head back towards the farm. Its about 2:30 and with the time it takes to bike back and then up the hill to Dozza, we should arrive right around the time that shops start to reopen. Plus, there's the castle to see if we need to waste time.
The bike ride back just the two of us is easier and much warmer. The sun has decided to come out and we can actually peel off some of our many layers. Sally insists that I go first since I'm the one in better shape - this gives me the entire road (when a car isn't coming) to zig zag along, running my hands through the high grass that coats the sides of the road. There are vineyards on each side of us in patches and I can't help but take a cliché, and totally necessary, shot of the scenery (see Facebook). Then we get to the road leading up to Dozza. Now Dozza has beautiful views of much of the countryside because it is up on a hill. One has to climb said hill to get the views though and on a bike with no gears and limited functionality in general, walking the bikes up becomes the obvious option. This hike makes the stairs in Amalfi seem Ike a cake walk. After about 25 minutes of huffing and puffing, we reach the edge of town and can relax somewhat before continuing on into the center of town. It's almost 4 at the is point and while shops may be opening in the next 30 minutes or so, we decide to check out the castle to get some culture.
The Dozza castle is amazing. Well preserved and off the beaten track, Sally and I have the whole thing to ourselves for a good 30 minutes before we see anyone else. Underneath the castle is one of Italy's most famous enotecas (wine shop). There are special tastings that go on throughout the year starting at about 45 euro a person. These are obviously for the reserved wines because everything on the shelves is under ten euro. This is the most frustrating thing for me because I have access to all of this wonderful, local and cheap wine and I can't take it with me! I settle on four bottles and call it a day.
It's almost five and wine o'clock has come around again. We settle into one of the trattorias and share a bottle while we wait out the rainy afternoon that seems to descended upon us. With no sign of the precipitation letting up, we decided to hunker down for dinner there as well. We have the most amazing salame plate and then two specials of the house, both made with tagollini pasta. After tasting both dishes, we decide Sally has definitely won - her truffle sauce is so delicate and tasteful that my traditional Ragu can't compete. I hate it when the other person has the better dish! We wrap up dinner with some limencello (shocker) and to our delight, the rain has subsided. Our bikes had been under cover the whole time, so we hop aboard our mechanical steeds and set off back down the hill. At this point, it is about 8:30 pm and night has fallen with no moonlight or other means of light. This makes us completely reliant on my little bike light. Down the hill we go from Dozza but we have to stop repeatedly because the grade is too steep and the gravel too slick to ride down. We get the to the last section of the hill and coast down, my little bike light giving us a short warning as to the ground ahead. I have to laugh out loud at how comical the situation is, two virtual strangers on really old bikes with bad brakes have a bottle or two of wine together and then go down a steep hill with very little light on a slick gravel road - brilliant! Somehow we make it down the hill in one piece and a short two minutes on the road has us back in the driveway of farm. The dogs greet us at the gate and we head inside to warm up by the stove that has finally been lit in the kitchen and to swap stories of the day with the rest of the house.
There are five bikes to choose from. The newest, a Gamma, looks like a standard bike with three gears. With it's fairly new blue paint, the brand name in shiney silver and the considerably reduced amount of rust compared to the rest, this is obviously the newest and best bike to have. Sally has comendeered said bike since it has the best seat, which will suit her bum quite well, she says. Leaving the two bikes with the worst seats to the youngings to deal with - they are only 22 and skinny as rails - they'll fare just fine. This leaves me with a light blue or light green - I can't tell - bike that looks like it was made in the 70s. By the horizontal bar, I can tell it's a men's bike, but the height fits me just fine. If only I had a basket, I could feel like I was completely basking "under the Tuscan sun". With our misfit collection of bikes and just as much a misfit collection of women, we set off for Imola.
It is chilly. The one store we pass signals to us that is 10 C or ... f. I have my Eagles knit cap on, my rain jacket and two different colored socks used as gloves. All bundled up, we trek the easy 40 minute bike ride into Imola, stopping to take picturesque photos and admire where we are.
Imola is a fairly small town and not very touristy, thankfully. We arrive on a Saturday were the market is going on, one very similar to Rogliano. I end up making my first clothes purchase in Italy and then Sally and I decide it's wine o'clock. We have all locked up our bikes, but the youngsters are no where to be found. They must have gotten distracted at one of the market sellers, so we set off in search of wine.
We settle into a cafe and have a few glasses with complementary crostinis. We chat about what life is like for each of us back home, what we miss, what we hope to do in the future, and what we've experienced so far on our trips. Sally hopes to someday buy a large plot of land in New Zealand and renovate it to become a home stay. She has the land all picked out, she's just trying to convince her husband to take the plunge and move from Perth back to her native country. After about an hour or so of people watching and talking, we roam around Imola for awhile before deciding to head back towards the farm. Its about 2:30 and with the time it takes to bike back and then up the hill to Dozza, we should arrive right around the time that shops start to reopen. Plus, there's the castle to see if we need to waste time.
The bike ride back just the two of us is easier and much warmer. The sun has decided to come out and we can actually peel off some of our many layers. Sally insists that I go first since I'm the one in better shape - this gives me the entire road (when a car isn't coming) to zig zag along, running my hands through the high grass that coats the sides of the road. There are vineyards on each side of us in patches and I can't help but take a cliché, and totally necessary, shot of the scenery (see Facebook). Then we get to the road leading up to Dozza. Now Dozza has beautiful views of much of the countryside because it is up on a hill. One has to climb said hill to get the views though and on a bike with no gears and limited functionality in general, walking the bikes up becomes the obvious option. This hike makes the stairs in Amalfi seem Ike a cake walk. After about 25 minutes of huffing and puffing, we reach the edge of town and can relax somewhat before continuing on into the center of town. It's almost 4 at the is point and while shops may be opening in the next 30 minutes or so, we decide to check out the castle to get some culture.
The Dozza castle is amazing. Well preserved and off the beaten track, Sally and I have the whole thing to ourselves for a good 30 minutes before we see anyone else. Underneath the castle is one of Italy's most famous enotecas (wine shop). There are special tastings that go on throughout the year starting at about 45 euro a person. These are obviously for the reserved wines because everything on the shelves is under ten euro. This is the most frustrating thing for me because I have access to all of this wonderful, local and cheap wine and I can't take it with me! I settle on four bottles and call it a day.
It's almost five and wine o'clock has come around again. We settle into one of the trattorias and share a bottle while we wait out the rainy afternoon that seems to descended upon us. With no sign of the precipitation letting up, we decided to hunker down for dinner there as well. We have the most amazing salame plate and then two specials of the house, both made with tagollini pasta. After tasting both dishes, we decide Sally has definitely won - her truffle sauce is so delicate and tasteful that my traditional Ragu can't compete. I hate it when the other person has the better dish! We wrap up dinner with some limencello (shocker) and to our delight, the rain has subsided. Our bikes had been under cover the whole time, so we hop aboard our mechanical steeds and set off back down the hill. At this point, it is about 8:30 pm and night has fallen with no moonlight or other means of light. This makes us completely reliant on my little bike light. Down the hill we go from Dozza but we have to stop repeatedly because the grade is too steep and the gravel too slick to ride down. We get the to the last section of the hill and coast down, my little bike light giving us a short warning as to the ground ahead. I have to laugh out loud at how comical the situation is, two virtual strangers on really old bikes with bad brakes have a bottle or two of wine together and then go down a steep hill with very little light on a slick gravel road - brilliant! Somehow we make it down the hill in one piece and a short two minutes on the road has us back in the driveway of farm. The dogs greet us at the gate and we head inside to warm up by the stove that has finally been lit in the kitchen and to swap stories of the day with the rest of the house.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Half N Half
Today, as the counter to the right of this post in reminding me, is the half way point of my time here in Italy. 35 of 70 days have passed.
It makes me sad to think about coming back to the real world (and no one take that as an insult, I still miss all of you :) ). Maybe after another 35 days I'll be sick of all of this, but being over here seems to bring out a better version of myself, if that makes any sense. I feel healthier, I feel stronger and I feel like every day holds something new and exciting (even if not enjoyable, like those damn goats). I don't know how to take this feeling with me. If I could figure that out, my life would be made. Going need to chew on that for awhile.
It makes me sad to think about coming back to the real world (and no one take that as an insult, I still miss all of you :) ). Maybe after another 35 days I'll be sick of all of this, but being over here seems to bring out a better version of myself, if that makes any sense. I feel healthier, I feel stronger and I feel like every day holds something new and exciting (even if not enjoyable, like those damn goats). I don't know how to take this feeling with me. If I could figure that out, my life would be made. Going need to chew on that for awhile.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
A Day in the Life - Dozza
I'm not sure which irritates me more, feeding the pigs or rounding up the goats after they graze. It's a toss up. There are only two pigs, but the smell... Wow, the smell. And the goats - five of the seven are angels and go back in the pen after grazing with relatively no problem. But then there's those last two... They remind me of those kids in elementary school that used to steal your lunch or favorite toy and as soon as you got close to them, they'd run away laughing, taunting you. Same thing here. Let's just say there is a lot of baiting with bread or grabbing of the horns to get them back where they belong. Other than those two chores, staying at Victoria and Davide's (pronounced Dav-e-day) has grown on me since the first day I arrived.
The experience is completely different from anything like Maria and Keith's. There are no huge family dinners, much less personal interaction and the work is much more physical. The most fun comes from talking to the guests that stay here, an Aussie and two Canadians, plus two other helpers from the US. Sally, the Aussie, and I get along quite well and it's nice to have someone to talk to, but she's only here a few days. The Canadians are almost out of college and are traveling to wrap up some course work. Very bubbly about life but not the sharpest tools in the shed. There is a long term helper from Germany as well, Marco, who specializes in building. He doesn't really talk much but is fluent in English - he replies to most questions and requests with his most utilized phrase in a thick German accent, "No problem." Lastly, the helpers from San Francisco are a couple in their mid 20s who decided to quit their jobs and travel for almost a year together. It was either that or use the money to get married - good choice in my mind.
As for the farm, the family has decided to undertake quite a large project by adding two rooms, a living room, and a dining room. Because of that, the entire property is one gigantic construction site. Additionally, Davide doesn't really throw things away for fear that he may one day need that fifth bathtub or that giant wrought iron driveway gate. Yes, you can find it all here folks - need four rusty radiators? How about twelve somewhat functional wooden doors? Can I interest you in a pair of glass doors etched with some random pub's name? I know I can sell you on two moldy mattresses with no box springs! Just come on down! We've got what YOU need!! You get the picture. Somehow this all fits into Davide's grand scheme, but we have yet to figure out how.
Our days starts at 7:30am to feed the animals - the pigs, the goats, the puppies and the kitten. The two pigs, which are massive, are housed in a very small shed and get fed a mixture of yellow powder, brown powder and random bits of bread. Add contents to a bucket of water, stir, and throw into trow inside shed. For fiber, yank an armful of tall grass and throw over into pig pen. Then it's off to the goats who are low maintenance in the morning, just clip some tress or vines and heave into pen. There are three puppies, about eight weeks old and a kitten, Spot, who recently lost his leg that all need to be fed their specific nourishment as well. After this standard morning routine, which the American couple and I split up every day, we find Davide who gives us the AM chores. Usually gardening, digging a trench, sorting firewood or some other random task. We then sit down for breakfast which has been the same every morning - granola with chocolate bits mixed in with yogurt. We make a large pot of coffee - more of what Americans would call espresso - and toast some bread to be the unappreciated vehicle for the coveted Nutella spread.
After completing the morning assignment, we usually have a small break before lunch. Then it's off to afternoon chores, which are usually just as random as the morning ones, but are more physical - moving heavy objects, setting up fencing, helping to build a shed, etc. 5:45 brings my least favorite time of day - the second feeding of the animals. Rinse, repeat from above, except the goats get to graze until they are full. This can take anywhere from 35 minutes to an hour and a half and on cold, drizzly days, it's not a lot of fun. And there's the aforementioned frustration with two said goats. Ugh, stupid goats.
To get dinner on the table faster, we asset Victoria with whatever we can, hoping to get to eat before 8:30. Oh, and after every meal I have mentioned we have dishwasher duty. Normally, no one would think much of it, but this isn't a normal scenario. Well, I guess it is a normal scenario if say, you're in the 1930's and out in the middle of nowhere USA. There is no working dishwasher and until the stove is lit in the winter, there is no hot water to any of the sinks (the showers, yes, thankfully). So, for every set of dishes, water needs to be boiled in a tea kettle and then everything needs to be washed, dried and put away. When you have nine adults eating, plus two kids and all the pots and pans that created the meal, you looking at an hour easy of clean up.
This is a standard day.
But come Saturday, I have the day off and the three girls (the Canadians and Sally) and I are heading to Imola by bike. This day would end up being the highlight of my time in Dozza.
The experience is completely different from anything like Maria and Keith's. There are no huge family dinners, much less personal interaction and the work is much more physical. The most fun comes from talking to the guests that stay here, an Aussie and two Canadians, plus two other helpers from the US. Sally, the Aussie, and I get along quite well and it's nice to have someone to talk to, but she's only here a few days. The Canadians are almost out of college and are traveling to wrap up some course work. Very bubbly about life but not the sharpest tools in the shed. There is a long term helper from Germany as well, Marco, who specializes in building. He doesn't really talk much but is fluent in English - he replies to most questions and requests with his most utilized phrase in a thick German accent, "No problem." Lastly, the helpers from San Francisco are a couple in their mid 20s who decided to quit their jobs and travel for almost a year together. It was either that or use the money to get married - good choice in my mind.
As for the farm, the family has decided to undertake quite a large project by adding two rooms, a living room, and a dining room. Because of that, the entire property is one gigantic construction site. Additionally, Davide doesn't really throw things away for fear that he may one day need that fifth bathtub or that giant wrought iron driveway gate. Yes, you can find it all here folks - need four rusty radiators? How about twelve somewhat functional wooden doors? Can I interest you in a pair of glass doors etched with some random pub's name? I know I can sell you on two moldy mattresses with no box springs! Just come on down! We've got what YOU need!! You get the picture. Somehow this all fits into Davide's grand scheme, but we have yet to figure out how.
Our days starts at 7:30am to feed the animals - the pigs, the goats, the puppies and the kitten. The two pigs, which are massive, are housed in a very small shed and get fed a mixture of yellow powder, brown powder and random bits of bread. Add contents to a bucket of water, stir, and throw into trow inside shed. For fiber, yank an armful of tall grass and throw over into pig pen. Then it's off to the goats who are low maintenance in the morning, just clip some tress or vines and heave into pen. There are three puppies, about eight weeks old and a kitten, Spot, who recently lost his leg that all need to be fed their specific nourishment as well. After this standard morning routine, which the American couple and I split up every day, we find Davide who gives us the AM chores. Usually gardening, digging a trench, sorting firewood or some other random task. We then sit down for breakfast which has been the same every morning - granola with chocolate bits mixed in with yogurt. We make a large pot of coffee - more of what Americans would call espresso - and toast some bread to be the unappreciated vehicle for the coveted Nutella spread.
After completing the morning assignment, we usually have a small break before lunch. Then it's off to afternoon chores, which are usually just as random as the morning ones, but are more physical - moving heavy objects, setting up fencing, helping to build a shed, etc. 5:45 brings my least favorite time of day - the second feeding of the animals. Rinse, repeat from above, except the goats get to graze until they are full. This can take anywhere from 35 minutes to an hour and a half and on cold, drizzly days, it's not a lot of fun. And there's the aforementioned frustration with two said goats. Ugh, stupid goats.
To get dinner on the table faster, we asset Victoria with whatever we can, hoping to get to eat before 8:30. Oh, and after every meal I have mentioned we have dishwasher duty. Normally, no one would think much of it, but this isn't a normal scenario. Well, I guess it is a normal scenario if say, you're in the 1930's and out in the middle of nowhere USA. There is no working dishwasher and until the stove is lit in the winter, there is no hot water to any of the sinks (the showers, yes, thankfully). So, for every set of dishes, water needs to be boiled in a tea kettle and then everything needs to be washed, dried and put away. When you have nine adults eating, plus two kids and all the pots and pans that created the meal, you looking at an hour easy of clean up.
This is a standard day.
But come Saturday, I have the day off and the three girls (the Canadians and Sally) and I are heading to Imola by bike. This day would end up being the highlight of my time in Dozza.
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