Jet black crow in the Stewartia tree, and other morning birds singing. The Olympic range makes a ragged, still-snowy horizon to the west. My surroundings are verdant and nearly luminous. It’s a cool, fresh morning… and I’m home.
It’s easier this time to leave behind dear Italy, for whom I have such a range of feelings. I didn’t invest myself as I did before. Though I wasn’t just a typical two-week traveler, at two months, I was still a “short-timer”. I had warm reunions with the dear folks I had met before, and I met more people that extended themselves to me with new, treasured bonds. I moved about with an open heart, but it was touched by the reserve borne of a known departure.
I’m ready to be home now. To unpack my things and nestle back in, something I didn’t fully do when I returned a year ago after a long year in Italy. I now have a better inkling of what that country is – and isn’t – for me.
Friday, June 24
Just after midnight last night I checked into a cheap motel along the highway in Atlanta.
I had been traveling and in airports for close to 24 hours and I was tired. The muggy, southern air was heavy and close. I had a discount voucher from the airline for one hotel, but while standing out on the curb waiting for the hotel shuttle, a hustling driver from another place came by and said that, instead of my waiting a half hour for the other shuttle to arrive, he could get me to the hotel he works for in a matter of minutes (uh huh. yeah right. sure.) and that they would honor the voucher.
Perhaps not the best means for choosing lodging at midnight in a city I don’t know, but I was full-up with waiting, said “yes” and got into the marked van. He loaded my bag in the back, said he’d return in a couple minutes then I watched as he went off to hustle other women travelers, suggesting that they also switch hotels and ride with him. (Sounds like a scam. He must get a commission.)
I was expecting the hotel to be on some perimeter road across the street from the airport. But we seemed to drive and drive on the highway, getting nowhere. “Hey!? how far away IS this place?”, I asked. He explained the size of the airport property itself and how long it takes just to get beyond it’s borders. It took about 12 minutes and we arrived at the EconoLodge “Hotel”. (Calling this place a “hotel” was a real stretch. More like the “No-Tell Motel”.) I checked in, walked up the stairs and when going along the exterior passage to my room, noticed a dead potted plant in one of the room windows. Apparently there are more than just stranded airport travelers that stay here. Perhaps some folks stay longer than they ever anticipated… and some only stay for an hour. (wink wink.)
I double locked the door, turned on the AC against the stuffy room and muggy night, washed up after the long day traveling, and at close to 1:00 a.m. crashed into bed. The sheets appeared clean. (or clean enough.)
With the alarm set for 5:00, I wasn’t expecting much sleep and indeed, didn’t get it. Anxious to get home, afraid of my alarm not going off and feeling either too chilled or too stuffy, it was a fitful few hours.
Why the cheap hotel? Twenty-four hours earlier, I had hailed a cab in Milano, taken a train to the airport, then waited anxiously for a Milano-Atlanta seat assignment on a Summer, early-weekend morning. Flying standby comes with no assurances. About three minutes before they closed the flight, I was handed a card for seat 5D. I had gotten on the flight (!) and into Business/First Class! For the ten-and-half-hour flight, that was a much-welcomed surprise. I was treated like a queen and would have had plenty of room to stretch out legs twice as long as mine.
I slept some. Put a big dent in a murder mystery and arrived in Atlanta at 3:30 with three hours to kill before the first evening flight at 7:20.
I went from number 15 in the standby queue to number 5… and the flight left without me. The next flight was scheduled for 10:20 p.m. I hung out near the gate with other passengers, both confirmed and standby, and watched my position go from 16 to 5 again. The flight left an hour late, again without me. I had been waiting at the airport for 8 hours.
Stranded standby passengers queued up at the counter for information about baggage that had been checked, hotel vouchers and being rolled-over to the first flights for today.
Arriving at the airport this morning at 6:15, after little sleep and an only moderately-acceptable “Continental Breakfast”, I got through security and to the gate. I started at position number 15 in the list and the attendant at the check-in counter said “I’ll start praying for you now” when I asked her about my chances of getting on. She told me that there were seven flights to Seattle today and that I could hang out at the airport and see if I might get onto one of them. In the meantime, my position in the queue crashed to number 30.
No! I was flying home today one way or another! She told me there were two paid spots left available on the flight. At 7:40, I hustled down to the distant end of the concourse to a ticket counter, bought a ticket for the 8:20 flight and hustled back. I paid enough to gag a horse, but I had spent eight hours waiting and hoping yesterday. I was NOT going to hang out all day just to SEE if I could get on.
I arrived in Seattle at 10:30 and my bags were already there waiting for me.
Good to be home.
– – –
Postscript:
It’s now Sunday night, the 26th. I got to my house Friday at about noon and have had a chance to unpack my bags, restock the fridge, go to the gym 3 nights in a row, mow my lawn, tidy up the garden, sort my mail and see friends. And I’m all ready for Monday morning and back in full swing for work. If I hadn’t bought that ticket, I might still be in Atlanta waiting for a ride home.
Morals:
“That’s why God invented credit cards.”
“How much is my time worth?”
“Friends don’t let friends fly standby.”
What a way to begin and end a journey… Embedded in the platform at the Cadorna station, leading in and out of Milano, is a slab of stone engraved with this phrase: “Every step I have taken in my life has led me here, now.”
As a cyclist, I must be ALWAYS vigilant! This particular stop sign on the way to the bikes-only path, both amuses and frightens me. Stop? What stop? And this ain’t no “California Rolling Stop!” This is hardly a hesitation, a pause.
A stop sign is a guideline. If there’s an accident and YOU had the stop sign, then you’re at fault. Poof. Simple. Other than that, it’s a guideline only.
Notice the pedestrians that try desperately to get across the street.
I just had to. I’ve been here in Italy for almost 2 months and my apartment here in Milano is just 3 doors away from the best pastry shop in the city, Pasticceria Spezia Milano. I hadn’t been in yet for my favorite: Babá, a sponge cake filled with sweetened ricotta cheese and chocolate bits. The whole thing is so saturated with sweetened rum that it gushes and runs down my hand when I take a bite.
After a bike ride and a shower, I finally went over to get a little something sweet. MAYBE the bike ride offset the Babá, but I don’t care either way!
And they wrap them so beautifully with an arch of gold to lift the custom paper off the delicate pastries. The whole thing is tied with a red ribbon and a bow.
A couple of days ago I went to Venice for the day just because I could. In a few days it’ll no longer be so simple to do.
My fourth or fifth time there, this visit was entirely different. I wasn’t on a mission, I wasn’t in a mad dash to fill the memory card of my (still-malfunctioning) camera. I wandered in a very relaxed, spontaneous, slow manner and it was nice. (Read my previous posts here.)
“Benvenuti a Venezia” – Welcome to Venice.
San Marco square, the large piazza in front of San Marco Cathedral, is the destination for every visitor stepping off the boat or train into Venice. (That and the Rialto Bridge.) All signs point to San Marco, guiding the flow of foot traffic.
And yet, upon arriving at San Marco, it is FORBIDDEN (on threat of fine) to simply sit in the piazza to enjoy the sights. This law is entirely contrary to the countrywide custom of the main plaza being the “living room” and gathering place within an Italian city. In fact, there is NO place to sit in Venice unless a visitor orders food and pays a cover charge to sit at a table. This astounds me.
As I’ve learned about Venice, there are major walking routes always filled with tourists. But step off those routes onto the side streets, and the city becomes very quiet and local.
Italy is wall-papered with supergraphic advertising, even covering classic, historic buildings. This Mario Testino ad created a blue channel through which the gondolas floated.
Visitors to the show were required to sign a release form. They might become quite disturbed (read: freak out!) when walking through the pitch-black tunnel titled “Dirty Corner”.
Milan is hosting the work of internationally-renowned artist, Anish Kapoor, at the city’s newly opened “La Fabbrica del Vapore”– The Steam Factory – and also at the Rotonda di Via Besana. (Click on “La Mostra”.)
From Wikipedia: “Anish Kapoor is a British sculptor of Indian birth. Born in Mumbai (Bombay), Kapoor has lived and worked in London since the early 1970s when he moved to study art, first at the Hornsey College of Art and later at the Chelsea School of Art and Design. He initially began exhibiting as part of New British Sculpture art scene. He went on to exhibit internationally at venues such as the Tate Gallery and Hayward Gallery in London, Kunsthalle Basel, Haus der Kunst Munich, Deutsche Guggenheim in Berlin, Reina Sofia in Madrid, MAK Vienna, and the ICA Boston. He represented Britain in the XLIV Venice Biennale in 1990, when he was awarded the Premio Duemila Prize. In 1991 he received the Turner Prize. Notable public sculptures include Cloud Gate, Millennium Park, Chicago, and Sky Mirror at the Rockefeller Center, New York.”
From the Exhibition Website:
The exhibition at the Steam Factory – La Fabbrica del Vapore – consists of the monumental site-specific installation titled “Dirty Corner”, specially made for the exhibition in Milan. Installation – achieved with the support of the Galleria Continua, the Lisson Gallery and Galleria Massimo Minini – consists of a large volume of steeldown about 60 meters long and 8 meters high, crossing the space of the “Cathedral” and within which visitors can enter. The work will be covered gradually by a mountain of earth about 160 cubic meters, carried by a system of conveyor belts.
For a more personal experience, site visitors wait at the entrance until the previous entrants are out of sight and ear-shot.
The piece, titled “Dirty Corner” is an engineering and metalwork marvel. The voluptuous curves are quite remarkable considering they’re made from 5/16″+ Corten steel sheets.
When it was my turn to enter, I looked up at this beautiful form against the roof of La Fabbrica.
Upon entering, I turned around for the view in the opposite direction.
Stepping into the black tunnel, I had no fear. It was a curious time for self-observation and sensing my body in space. (I thought of going through in bare feet.) Could I get turned around inside the tunnel? No. The pathway is flat, and where it begins to curve upward my feet clearly got the signal, so I easily kept walking in a straight line toward the end.
The tail end of the tunnel is finished with a hemisphere. The exit is off to one side, preventing the eyes from picking up light along the passage.
The structural and textural details make the exterior quite rich.
I wonder how many people have noticed that a strand of grass has sprouted in the dirt that has tumbled over the sculpture? The dirt was not falling during my visit, but I imagine it must add an element of sound when inside the tunnel.
FABBRICA DEL VAPORE – via Procaccini, 4 – Milano Italia
The show is open until January 8, 2012.
It’s so outlandish to say that, and it’s not often that I CAN just go to Venice for the day, that I’m going to! I bought train tickets for tomorrow and will leave in the morning, wander around, have a nice meal or two at the good restaurants I know there, then come home in the evening.
The train trip is about two and a half hours each way and has none of the stress of driving a car somewhere. (And I’ve driven much farther/longer than that for the day!)
Such dear, dear people. I feel so welcomed by Agnese, Ninni, their son Erik and Ninni’s sister Bea. They greeted me so warmly and then said goodbye with hints of visiting Seattle this year!
It was three years ago that I had “Warm Octopus with Potatoes and Olives” for the first time at the Carlotta Café here along the Naviglio Pavese canal in Milano. I’ve been dreaming about it ever since and longed to know how to make it myself. Almost a year ago, on Friday, the day before leaving to return to Seattle, I had hailed a cab to go to the restaurant for an Octopus-cooking lesson. Ninni and Agnese had offered to teach me sometime.
When I arrived, they were closed up tight. I didn’t know they were away on vacation.
Back here in Milano for these two months, I’ve been traveling quite a bit, and have only gone to the Café for one meal, with a big group of friends. With my departure imminent (next week!), I just had to get down there for my Octopus Lesson!
Today was the day. I packed my apron, hopped on my bike and was there in 10 minutes to hang out in the kitchen for the afternoon. I had called ahead and arrived during a quiet lunch hour. Ninni immediately asked his son, Erik, to pour me a glass of prosecco. Bea, (short for Beatrice), Ninni’s sister, works at the restaurant and showed me step by step what I needed to know.
Piovre Tiepida con Patate e Olive Warm Octopus with Potatoes and Olives
Octopus – previously frozen, thawed. 2.5 – 3 lbs. each.
Have a BIG pot of water boiling and ready. Put the octopus into the boiling water, tentacles up, with two fistfuls of coarse salt. The octopus will cook for an hour to an hour-and-a-half until it has the tenderness of a cooked roast when poked with a 2-tined fork. No other ingredients are added to the water. (No onions, celery, pepper, etc.)
These octopus are bigger than the ones I’ve found at the Pike Place Market in Seattle.
THE OCTOPUS SHOULD BE COOKED AND THEN COOLED THE DAY BEFORE SERVING (or at least earlier in the day). This is a big key toward its tenderness. (Today, to show me the preparation, Bea used octopus that had been cooked yesterday.)
Potatoes – Moist, yellow potatoes, such as a Yukon Gold, are best.
Cook the potatoes ahead of time and let them cool to room temperature. When ready to prepare the dish, peel the potatoes, cut them into chunks and set them aside.
Italian Parsley – Take a handful of Italian Parsley and chop it finely.
Oil/Vinegar Dressing – 1 liter Extra virgin olive oil, about 1/2 cup of red wine vinegar, 1 large clove of garlic, about a Tbsp. of salt. Put all of these ingredients into a deep, narrow mixing jar and use a hand blender (or similar) to pureé it into a smooth dressing. This dressing will suffice for quite a while and can be stored in the fridge for later use.
Olives – Use the very small, distinctive, taggiasche olives (from Liguria).
Assembly – When ready to prepare the meal, take the octopus from the fridge and cut the body/head away from the tentacles and set it aside. If it hasn’t already been cleaned out, at the junction of the body and tentacles is a round sack about the size of a quarter (depending on the size of the Octopus) and the beak, both of which should be removed and thrown away. Cut the tentacles apart from each other up at the thick ends. The skin is NOT peeled off. The thickest part of the tentacle can be cut crosswise if desired. Cut into 1/8″ thick rounds, cutting the whole tentacle, suction cups and all. Take the body/head, like an empty pouch, and peel away the outer skin. Cut into bite-sized pieces.
(The body/head is the rounded, fist-sized piece sitting at the edge of the cutting board in the picture below.)
Depending on the number of people being served, gather octopus chunks, potato chunks and a good handful of olives and place them into a sieve. With a pot of water already boiling on the stove, place the sieve and its contents, into the boiling water. Allow the food to heat for only about 3 or 4 minutes just to warm through.
Remove from the water. Drain well and toss everything into a bowl. Add a handful of chopped parsley and a good glug-glug-glug of the prepared oil/vinegar dressing. Serve with a wedge of lemon, if desired.
Bea finished prepping the octopus, Ninni plated it and gave me a delicious lunch. Out of this world. So very tender. From now on, everyone that comes to my house for dinner will be served octopus.
Surrounded by such kind people: Ninni, Erik, Bea and Agnese
The next time you eat sausage, thick pork chop, sauerkraut, polenta, hot mustard and horseradish, think northeastern Italy. Delicious and nothing like what Americans think of as “Italian Food”.
Rovereto is not far from both Austria and Switzerland and the influence is clear in the food. Certainly, the buildings have more painted, decorative facings, but their rooftops remain tiled (unlike Valle d’Aosta with its fish scale slate).
I like Rovereto and it seems as-yet-undiscovered. The waitress said there are the tourists that come here, but I haven’t seen one tour group or souvenir gift shop. If this is a “tourist spot” this is fine with me.
Rovereto offers art, history, culture, environmental beauty… Daily life and necessities. It has been well-tended-to without seeming like Disneyland-surreal. I have the impression on this, my first afternoon/evening here, that I could explore this small city for a long time. It could hold my interest.
In my travels around Italy, sure I want to see the highlighted spots, but more than anything, I am intrigued by the many, different, characteristic places that, together, comprise Italy. I am aiming for a full picture of this country and it’s land. The typical view is so narrow; the real view is so broad.
It began with a Campari bottle. A classic design they’ve used for decades. Hmm. Curious. I googled it and found that the bottle was designed by Italian artist and designer, Fortunato Depero, in 1932. I also found out that he was the initiator of the Italian Futurist Art movement and that there’s a museum exhibiting 3,000 of his works in Rovereto, Italy: Casa Depero. There’s also quite an extensive and beautiful modern art museum associated with it: MART.
Where’s Rovereto? It’s way up in the northeast of Italy, north of Verona, northwest of Venezia, close to the northern shore of Lago Di Garda – Lake Garda – and not far from both Austria and Switzerland. Rovereto is in the Trentino-Alto Adige region of Italy. (The best bread I’ve found in Milano is from a deli with food of this region, Austrian-inspired.)
At noon, a cab ride brought me from Sirmione, where I had been for one day, back to the train station at Desenzano. Then I trained to Verona, changed trains and rode along the lake’s eastern shore and the Adige River to Rovereto.
So, here I am for three days, with museums on my agenda. I don’t have Internet in my room, so I’m sitting here at the library. I’m writing on my iPad and still haven’t figured out how to upload photos from here, so there aren’t any images for these few days and will be added later.
My camera is malfunctioning (!!!) and I have no control over the flash, the color balance or exposure (!!!) but I CAN still gather images. (I stopped into a camera store in the middle of tourist-ville today just to check on worst case scenario prices if I feel compelled to buy a new camera to use during the rest of my time here. Yikes. I hate to do that. Technology is pricey in Italy, and the exchange rate is terrible right now.)
The cab dropped me at my B&B and I immediately loved it: B&B Casa Bettini. On a narrow street in the historic area. Beautifully but simply refurbished. a perfect home base for these few days.
I dropped my bags and started walking, malfunctioning camera in hand. Rovereto is charming, intriguing, photogenic and historic. The city has much to offer a visitor yet it seems that there are only locals walking around. There’s the photographic exploration that I enjoy so much, the art and other museums, shopping for those so inclined, narrow passageways to explore, a castle and surrounding hillsides that create a beautiful environment. Plan part of your next Italian vacation here: as-yet-undiscovered Rovereto. (I checked and couldn’t find it mentioned anywhere on Rick Steve’s web site. Get here before he does!)
So I will gladly stroll this town ’til Saturday morning. It tickles me at every turn.
(Now I’m off to find a dinner of the typical foods of the area. Ciao!)
I bought some train tickets! Yesterday I traveled from Milano to Sirmione, an historic town at the end of a finger-of-a-peninsula that juts into the south end of Lago Di Garda – Lake Garda. I explored the town in the pouring rain, umbrella in one hand, camera in the other hand, soaking wet shoes on my feet.
Sirmione’s centro storico – historic center – features the requisite castle, Rocca Scaligera, with swans swimming the moat, and roman ruins a 15 minute walk away, Grotte di Catullo – the Grottoes of Catullo. It was a highly touristic area, even with the drenching rainfall. A wet afternoon and a sunny morning there were enough for me.
What started all this exploration of Italy? A nudging query from a friend. An internet search. And far too many reminders that life is much too short. Too many friends and family members have “had their numbers come up”. They’ve gotten “that news”. It’s a gulper and has rattled me each time.
They say you can’t learn from someone else’s life. I want to refute that and take their news as a lesson to put as much life in my life as possible.
When on the metro here in Milano, on those occasions when I stop at “Fermata Montenapoleone“, I enjoy the tilework on the columns, and it reminds me to enjoy my life.
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