by Maureen | Apr 29, 2011 | Featured Articles, Incredible Locations, Introspection, Journal, Milano, Photos
Friday, April 29. The Milanese are still wearing their winter jeans, puff jackets and scarves. I’m wearing black linen capris and sleeveless blouses. I arrived in Milano Wednesday at 9:00 a.m., to a morning warmer than Seattle… yet I’m glad to have brought a little summer jacket.
Robin-like birds started singing early this morning. By the time I looked at the clock, it was 5:00 and they had already roused a chorus. I slipped back into sleep, and when I awoke, it was then the doves I heard, cooing in the courtyard trees.
The sky is overcast. There’s a bit of a breeze, and we had both sprinkles and sunshine by day’s end. The church bells just started chiming. It’s a quarter-til-6:00 in the evening. Why aren’t they waiting ’til the hour?
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On Wednesday, the short train ride from the airport brought me to Cadorna Station in central Milano. I caught a cab to the apartment I’ve rented for this week, in the hip-and-artsy Navigli district, just blocks away from my old apartment and one of the grocery stores I always used to shop at.
Late morning, drowsy from the long travel and a little hungry, I went across the street to Trattoria Madonnina with its city-wide reputation… for coffee and lunch served by an unhappy waitress. I sat on the courtyard-side, jasmine-covered patio, with red-checked tablecloths and red, plastic chairs. (The WC is an old-style pit toilet with white, ridged ceramic foot pads for accurate positioning.) The morning was slow and relaxed with a cool, mid-spring sun and Milano’s classic hazy-blue sky. Neighborhood locals passed through the courtyard with their big, round “ciaos”.
I stopped in to the grocery to see my friend, Justine, cutting prosciutto in the meat department. She’s the meat cutter at the store and has the most beautiful smile. It touched my heart that her face lit up to see me and we gave each other an excited, european, two-cheeked kiss and chatted between customers.
It feels as if it’s only been 2 weeks since I was last here. As if I was back in Seattle just to check on a few things and see family, friends and clients. Actually, 9 months have passed since I packed up and left Milano, but it feels like I’ve come home, as I walk these familiar streets and hear the city’s sounds of sirens and courtyard conversations, soccer cheers and scooter accelerations.
In planning these two months, I gave myself the luxury of a fairly unplanned first week here in Milano. I haven’t even told all my friends that I’m here yet, because I haven’t wanted this week to be a full flurry of gatherings. I’ve taken my naps and slept as needed to get over the late-nights’ crush to leave Seattle, the long travels and resulting jet lag. I’ve focussed on getting systems up and running. I reactivated my Italian cell phone with its rechargeable SIM card, unlocked my ancient (1st generation) iPhone (thanks to Luigi) and transferred the SIM card from one phone to the other. I was allowed use of the wifi at the Design School and have spent hours online, sitting amidst design students in the computer lab while I booked air and hotels for Sicily and Puglia for the coming two weeks.
Connectivity-hooked that I am, with no wifi in this apartment, and inconvenienced by only being online when the computer lab is open, I bought a “chiavetta” – little key – from TIM, one of the Italian carriers and the supplier of my cell phone SIM card service. Very patient Valentina at the TIM store on Corso San Gottardo explained my options and then waded through setup with me. I can now use the key modem independent of wifi availability throughout all of Italy (though it won’t work on my iPad because of device power issues).
Logistics. Though vastly less disruptive to my “life system” to come abroad for “just” 2 months rather than packing up and moving here, it’s still a big effort and taxing. How often do I figure on doing this? Once… twice a year? Would two weeks satisfy me? Will I always want a month or two or more? And to what end? Am I naive in feeling I have some sort of tie to Italy and her people, the friends I’ve made here? Am I holding a glamorized, fantasy of living partly in Italy? And where does that come from?
It’s Friday evening and there’s chatter in the courtyard, an enclosed canyon of a space between several of this big city’s 5-story apartment buildings.
Still moving slowly, I’m not compelled to go out tonight. Rather, I’ll make myself a salad of fresh greens, Sicilian tomatoes, long-missed bresaola, scamorza affumicata, some oil and vinegar. Maybe this weekend I’ll head down the bike path on an already-borrowed bike for some fresh ricotta cheese, and then later meet up with a girlfriend to check out the latest art museum show.
Here just two days so far, I’ve shopped for olive oil and intimates, cured meats and internet keys. At a quarter-til-eight in the evening, the doves are cooing again.
I’m back in Milano.
Ciao!
by Maureen | Mar 19, 2011 | Discoveries, Featured Articles, Incredible Locations, Introspection, Journal, Quips
While all around the community people were wearing kelly green and mylar shamrocks on Thursday, a few friends of mine here, and a whole nation halfway around the world, added white and red to their color scheme.
March 17 was the celebration of the 150th anniversary of the unification of Italy. Happy Birthday, Italia! Auguri! Good wishes!
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From Wikipedia’s entry:
Italian unification (Italian: il Risorgimento, or “The Resurgence“) was the political and social movement that agglomerated different states of the Italian peninsula into the single state of Italy in the 19th century. Despite a lack of consensus on the exact dates for the beginning and end of this period, many scholars agree that the process began in 1815 with the Congress of Vienna and the end of Napoleonic rule, and ended sometime around 1871 with the Franco-Prussian War. The last città irredente however, did not join the Kingdom of Italy until after World War I.
by Maureen | Nov 28, 2010 | Canals, Featured Articles, Incredible Locations, Journal, Photos
One year ago, late November, I was riding my beloved bike route along the Naviglio Pavese, one of the several canals radiating from the center of Milano. In the near-14-months that I rode this paved path, I couldn’t guess how many times I covered part of these 33 kilometers between Milano and Pavia, to the south.
Some days I went only as far as the roundabout joining two highways near Binasco, and turned back, not having the guts that day to do that dangerous circle on two wheels. Other days I veered off west into the farm land, and wound the one-lane roads amidst the rice paddies and corn fields on my way to buy fresh ricotta cheese at Cascina Femegro. There were times I talked to and raced with the lycra-clad jock cyclists on their training rides and I surprised them by keeping up with their pace.
In the course of my long year, I witnessed the full cycle of seasons along the canal. I rode in the humid heat of summer under a blazing sky, and continued riding in the cold, hazy gray of the long, Milanese winter. I was intrigued by the dull hues and disrepair of the backside facades overlooking the canal. Along this route, I saw the frostburnt remnants of summer gardens, moss and algae, stucco and tile begging for repair and persimmons left to hang.
The canalside is more often left untended; it is the non-public face of the home or business, unlike the streetside front that presents a more polished view, (akin to a beautiful woman ironing only the front of her blouse). But there’s something very direct and appealing about the canalside facade, even quaint, and certainly without pretense. It called for a sleepy, early-winter portrait from the water’s edge.
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Among the many, here are a few other stories I’ve written about the canal:
Canalside Afternoon
Rapeseed & Red Poppies
Kitty Fix on a Ricotta Day
The Rolling “Ciao”
History Buff on Wheels
Fish on a Sunny Day
The Canal’s End of Summer
Head Wind
by Maureen | Sep 6, 2010 | Cheese, Featured Articles, Food!, Incredible Locations, Introspection, Journal, Meals, People, Photos, Seattle, Shopping & Markets
Seattle’s chilly summertime is winding down with scattered sunshine following cloudy mornings. Warm evenings are rare, but, once again, the waterside neighbors initiated a dinnertime potluck along the shoreline last Friday, the start of a holiday weekend. I vowed to bring “something Italianesque”, and told them I likely wouldn’t know what it would be until mere hours before I headed out my back door to cross the street.
I wanted to try my hand at making homemade pasta. Regrettably, over the course of more than a year in Italy, I never took a cooking class! No one ever took me aside to show me how to whisk an egg into a well of flour, bring it up into a dough, knead it sufficiently, roll it out and slice it into handcut noodles.
Feeling intrepid, I located “Uncle Bill’s” web site offering an ingredient list and method for “Homemades” (noodles), and found a YouTube video showing a quicker process, “How to Make Pasta from Scratch in 5 Minutes“ (using a food processor instead of the time-honored flour well). I then called my friend, Sally, and asked to “steal” her hand-crank Marcato Atlas 150 Pasta Maker.
It really did only take 5 minutes to mix up my first ever pasta dough and handcut a bundle of tagliatelle.
Thinking about our neighborhood dinner, I conjured a “Farmers Market Lasagna“? The day before, umbrellaed market stalls had filled the street at Burien’s Town Square and I browsed for a tasty collection of veggies to nestle between wide sheets of fresh pasta. I scouted the best of each vegetable, added them to my shopping bag, then went home to cut, grill, simmer and prepare the following:
- Grilled eggplant
- Roasted, thick-walled, red peppers
- Roma & beefsteak tomatoes, peeled, seeded and cooked down to a chunky sauce
- Caramelized Walla Walla sweet onions
- Freshly-made pesto Genovese of basil, pine nuts, garlic, extra virgin olive oil, salt and some grana padano cheese that I brought back from Milano
- Fresh mozzarella and ricotta
Fresh pesto is vivid green and always scents the kitchen (and the cook’s hands) with the smell of a summer garden. Making a batch, you might as well make enough for friends and the freezer! (Clean the interior surface of the jar after you’ve dished it out, then cover the pesto with a skiff of olive oil. This keeps the pesto from oxidizing and turning black, and from getting moldy. Store it for a week or so in the fridge; for longer storage, keep it in the freezer.)
Not quite jam, pesto is still good when smeared lightly on a slice of Tuscan-style bread!
Look at the silky smooth, beautiful ribbon of pasta, just waiting to be laid down into the lasagne dish! Just a couple more turns through the finer settings on the Atlas and it was ready to go. The Milanese “Amaretti di Saronno” tin has been my flour can for close to 30 years. Prescient.
My maiden noodles were set out to dry a bit while I finished rolling and cutting. I don’t have noodle drying racks, so occasional flipping on the cookie sheets was going to have to suffice. (I love the big mess of a fully-involved kitchen!)
I cooked my pasta sheets in salted, boiling water for only about 2 minutes, drained them, oiled them a bit to prevent their sticking, then started the layering of vegetables and cheeses. (The smaller lasagna went into my freezer for another day. Mmm.)
Since everything was already cooked before it went into the pan, the Farmers Market Lasagna only needed enough heat to melt the cheeses and blend the flavors. When it came out of the oven, I wrapped the dish in my apron, and carried it over to the neighbors. Eight of us enjoyed appetizers in the upper yard before winding down the wooded trail to the bulkhead beach and the rest of our dinner.
Over the course of the evening, we enjoyed an outstanding selection of Italian wines, including a Chianti Classico Riserva, Brunello di Montalcino and a Barolo! The sunset couldn’t have been much prettier.
There’s nothing like a bunch of “grown-ups” sitting around a fire singing camp songs and old hymns. Barbara tried to get us headed in the right direction when singing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” as a round.
I’ve talked to many people around Seattle that don’t even know their neighbors (let alone eat and sing camp songs with them)! Returning to my neighborhood, and the friends around me here, has been one of the big joys of my homecoming.
by Maureen | Sep 1, 2010 | Featured Articles, Incredible Locations, Introspection, Journal, People, Photo of the Day, Quips, Seattle
I’m grateful for the little reminders of Italia that I encounter here in Seattle, going about my day. Names for cookies and chips. Old ladies wearing tavern jackets in the “pot pie” frozen food section. “Proud to be Italian” License plate frames. Even shrink-wrapped prosciutto piques my nostalgia, though it’s a far cry from having my favorite butchers slice it off the leg for me.
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by Maureen | Aug 4, 2010 | Discoveries, Introspection, Journal, Quips
This post comes with caveats. Yes, these thoughts are generalizations. Yes, there are exceptions. Yes, stereotypes paint a broad swath rather than acknowledge the individuals.
This is a list, in no particular order, of some confounding quirks I encountered in Italy. They were sometimes treasured, sometimes tolerated, (sometimes jaw-dropping and infuriating). These are traits that made me shake my head, chuckle in resignation and question my own rigid, structured thinking.
- Passion vs. intellect.
- Lax, loose regard for rules: ie. traffic, laws, ADA, etc. Unconstrained by regulations.
- Double system: “under the table” and “above board”.
- Mutable sense of timing and deadlines.
- Circular, roundabout thinking.
- Chaos and disorganization.
- Lack of fear.
- Unclear communications.
- Low-finish vs. refined. At times sloppy, at times polished.
- Blend of historic and contemporary, “high design”.
- Anti-rigid. Nothing’s pinned down. Approximate vs. exacting.
Perhaps, now, I will be more “flexibly systematic”. Looser around the edges.
by Maureen | Jul 30, 2010 | Featured Articles, Introspection, Journal, People, Photos, Quips
How often do any of us put ourselves in the position to meet so many people in so many ways in so short a time? How readily do we open our lives to the touch of strangers?
I came here to Italy wanting to have relationships and experiences, and to gather images. I have done all of that in greater ways than I could have imagined and I now carry the faces of new friends with me. Their eyes, their voices, our conversations and our laughter will follow me as I leave this place behind. Most I will likely not see again. Some I may. But they have all become a part of my life by stepping into my days here.
Please meet some of the people I’ve met since January.
On New Year’s Eve I wrote about the new friends from my first six months here in Milano.
It is harder to leave them than I had imagined.
MARY – Italian. She’s 85 and has been working at the cemetery for 15 years. She works with the priest in the small chapel, preparing for the memorial masses. Her “Rotondo” handwriting started me on a quest for classic, Italian penmanship samples.
NINNI & AGNESE – Italians, from Sardegna. Dear-hearted, they own the Carlotta Cafe and serve memorable meals.
ANGELO – True Milanese Italian. My “History Buff on Wheels”. He showed me some of the one-lane farmland roads that have become my balm and my delight.
SARA – American. An artist, sculptor and creator studying fashion design in the Summer courses at NABA. Her work is poetic and rich and I anticipate very creative work from her!
MICHELANGELO & TERESA – An Italian and an American, in Venice. They’ve been married for 15 (or more?) years and are the only sellers of the most beautiful glass beads in Venice.
BRUNELLO – Italian. We had a freezing-cold bike ride together in the middle of January. Brrr!
SIGNORA ADA – Italian, and Venetian restaurateur. She’s an imp with a sparkle in her eye.
ALESSANDRO – Italian. He’d love to move to the U.S.
NICOLETTA – Italian. A WOMAN on the bike path! A rare sight, so we talked about it.
ERIK – Italian, with Sardegnan family roots. He served me octopus and potatoes several times.
EWA – Polish. My first independent, spontaneous friend here in Italy.
CLAUDIO – Italian, from Genova. He and his wife, Marina, hosted me for an impromptu city tour and lunch.
LUIGI – Italian. Industrious and resourceful, gathering firewood and compost along the canal to carry home on his bike.
MELTEM – Turkish. One of the “Aperitivi Girls”, we know each other through the Italian language classes.
SANDRA & MATIA – Turkish and Italian. Sandra and I met, like many others, in our Italian language class. With our interests in Art and Design, we have much in common. We traveled to Bologna together, with Matia, for a wintertime, city-wide Arts exhibition.
MAUREEN, BRUNELLO, NOEMI – 1 American and 2 Italians. Brunello and Noemi are with NABA, and there were several of us together at the Mayflower Pub, relaxing at day’s end.
GERRY & CONNIE – Americans. Goofy cousins visiting Milano for one night before they move on to Venice.
ANAIS & HER FRIENDS – French. Anais and I were in Italian language class together. Her friends came over for the weekend to celebrate her birthday.
ASHLEY – American, from Chicago. She’s studying photography at a school nearby.
CARLO & VICENZO – Italians. Dressed like jailbirds and co-guests at an impromptu aperitivo.
ROBERTO – Italian, from Milano. He was our beloved and silly Italian teacher. He made the 3-hour-a-day class a kick-in-the-pants. We all joked a lot.
MARIA – Italian. We met at an ONAV gathering and enjoyed an animated conversation. She’s a dear.
CESARE, MAUREEN, ROBY, VALERIO, ANTONIO – 4 Italians and an American girl. I was surprised to find that I had been seated at a table of men at a wine-tasting event.
NINO – Italian. His oil paintings are exquisite and two of them will hang in my home in Seattle.
MARCELLO & RAFFAELLA – Italians, from Bologna. The three of us have an American friend in common. That bond alone opened their door to me. They invited me in and we talked for hours. A lovely couple offering cooking tours of Italy, through Bluone Cooking Tours.
TANIA – Italian. Leader for NABA’s Fashion Design Program. A fine, bright woman that I’ve only caught a hint of.
EARL & MATHEW – Americans. Long-time family friends, here for a whirlwind tour of Italy and lots of pizza and pastries.
MARINA – Italian, from Genova. We met when I bought hat forms from her at the antiques market along the Naviglio Grande. Later, she and her husband hosted me for a day in Genova.
EMILIO – Italian. A friend from my cycling community.
FEDERICA – Italian. A fellow student from the wine-tasting class.
EUGENIO – Italian. The teller from my bank.
GIUSEPPE – Italian. Another ONAV wine-tasting student.
THE APERITIVI GIRLS – French, Australian, Turkish, American. We are linked by our Italian language studies and have gotten together once-a-month or so. We speak in multiple languages at our table.
HASSAN – Iranian. A fellow language student.
KERYN – Australian/New Zealander. Another of the group of women that meets for aperitivi now and then. We traveled to Verona together for a weekend.
LOREDANO – Italian from Veneto. He’s a painter with a studio along the Naviglio Grande. If you scramble a few letters of his name, you get “Leonardo”.
ZIBBY & HANNAH – Americans, daughters of friends back home in Seattle. We had less than 24 hours together, but they were full of conversation and curiosity.
MAKO & QING SHENG – Chinese. We ate our lunches side-by-side, then strolled the antiques market together, 2 Chinese and 1 American speaking Italian, our common language.
THUSHAN – Sri Lankan. Our “portiere”, Thushan keeps our office/apartment building running smoothly.
MARIO – Italian. One of the regional heads of ONAV, the National Organization of Wine Tasters.
ROBY – Italian. “My favorite bartender”, which makes it sound like I’m always at the bar… but he hosts many of the student social evenings at his Mayflower Pub, so I’ve been there a number of times. Or sometimes, when walking by, I’ll stop just to say “hello”.
MAURO, SANDRA, MAUREEN, SANDRO – 3 Italians and 1 short American. My landlords and a friend of theirs, all from Sanremo on the Italian Riviera. We were in Monaco for the day.
ROCCO & GIANNI – Italian. ONAV wine tasting students. One night, class was getting out very late, close to 11:30 at night, so several of us left early to head to the subway before it closed. Gianni had a nice red wine in his glass still, so he walked down the street, into the subway and onto the train, sipping his red. (Never in the U.S.!)
OZDEN – Turkish. Another friend from my Italian language classes and one that joins the group for aperitivi.
SALLY – American. A dear friend and art lover from Seattle that came for a visit and “Maureen’s Eye View” of Italy.
SALVATORE – Italian. Comically stereotypical while trying to “score” on the 2-hour train ride. He said it was a hot day and that’s why he was unbuttoning his shirt down to his navel. Yeah, right.
VALENTINA – Italian. Another friend from the ONAV wine tasting class.
MAUREEN, QUENTIN, BEATA, PAOLO – 2 Americans, 2 Italians. We met at NABA and ended laughing through the evening and planning a cycling tour of Italy for the future.
OMAR – Italian. Omar sat next to me in the ONAV wine-tasting classes and speaks a bit of English. If I didn’t understand what was said in class, I could glance over at Omar’s notes and see if I could understand what he had written.
PIERO – Italian. We saw each other a couple of times along the street and exchanged a nod and some music.
by Maureen | Jul 24, 2010 | Aosta, Cogne, Discoveries, Featured Articles, Food!, Incredible Locations, Journal, People, Photo of the Day, Photos, Shopping & Markets
Journal Entry: 24 Luglio
The bus just left Aosta, heading back to Milano. I have been visiting my friends, Ewa and Piotr, in Cogne for two days where the “uniform” is hiking shorts and boots, muscular, suntanned legs, and walking sticks. The street signs are in French [and Italian] and at any time I can hear a half dozen languages.
The buildings have fish-scale, slate rooftops, with an undulating alignment. They all look the part of a Hobbit’s house with stone, scroll-cut wood, lichen patches and shutters.
I like this old couple. I wonder how long they’ve lived in Cogne.
He’s not afraid of cherry red pants!
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I have had to remind myself that this, too, is Italy.
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Cogne draws tourists from all over Europe, especially those interested in the many miles of mountain trails and climbing routes ranging from easy-to-difficult. The town is at the start of a valley that leads to the Parco Nazionale di Gran Paradiso, the National Park of “Great Paradise” Mountain.
Attend the Italian School of Skiing here in Cogne.
The town center is a hub of cafés, food stores, services and gift shops. Aosta’s regional bus company, Savda, makes its loop in the area at villages along the valley between Aosta and Cogne. (It also runs to and from Milano.)
Looking north down the valley from our rented house, the view shows the one main road that passes through the few blocks of town. Parking is almost absent in the town center, bowing to the heavy pedestrian traffic, so a lower lot is available for cars and motor homes.
Not surprisingly, the shoe stores in town sell hiking boots and sturdy walking shoes.
The date on the clock on the wall of the Casa dell’Orologio – Clock House – says “1806”.
And someone has an incredible salad garden going!
Here’s the backside of the clock building.
Though visitors fill the town, the locals seem to go right on with their daily lives in this mountain village, chatting with friends, sipping a caffé normale – a simple shot of espresso – or making their passeggiata – daily, walking stroll.
Two women were chatting outside of the small, local fruit and vegetable seller’s shop. They appeared to be locals and long-time friends.
There’s plenty of lodging available, in the center of town and around its edges.
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Though the town of Cogne is pristine and quaint, that doesn’t seem to be a show put on just for the tourists. I got the impression it’s always looked about like this. It’s not that Cogne is reminiscent of Leavenworth (WA), Leavenworth is reminiscent of Cogne (and other European regions).
This older home is just up the valley in the village of Lillaz, gateway to local waterfalls.
I have seen more sundials in the last year than in all of my life combined. Whether this is really from 1903 or not, it’s quite beautiful wearing its patina.
Ewa and I stopped into the local macelleria – the meat shop – to buy some meat for goulash. (She’s Polish.) The butcher scooped up a spoonful of ground, raw meat, much like a “steak tartare” and presented it to us for sampling. I reached out and grabbed a wad with my hands. It was delicious.
We also asked about the near-black meat in the center, (below), next to the wrapped tongue. The butcher gave us a sample, including a piece for Ewa’s 4-year-old grandson, Filippo. We LOVED it. The meat is raw, yet “processed” by being covered in hot salt. (I had wondered how it compares to Bresaola.) We bought a half dozen slices and Filippo and I fought over them as we ate the meat walking through town, licking our fingers.
I appreciate that a “Certificate of Provenance” for the meat is prominently displayed on the counter. It tells the ID number for the animal; when and where it was born and raised; and when and where it was butchered! The next day I wanted to go back for more of the “salt-cooked” meat.
by Maureen | Jul 24, 2010 | Aosta, Incredible Locations, Journal, Photo of the Day, Photos
On Thursday, the bus pulled away from a 95 degree day in Milano and headed into increasingly blustery skies in the Valle d’Aosta at the far northwest of Italy. (Find it on the map here.) I shot a few crude images through the dirty, tinted bus window as we rolled along, watching the scenery and the weather change. We went from the corn fields surrounding Milano, to castles and mountainside vineyards.
Today, two days later, on my return trip home from Cogne, the weather had changed and I sat on the north side of the bus to be out of the heat of the sun.
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Some notes from my journal entries to-and-from:
22 Luglio, 1:00
Milano – Lampugnano. (One of the metro stops on the red line and a major bus transfer point).
Heading west to Aosta and Cogne to spend a couple of days with Ewa and Piotr. They were my first new friends here and I will say my goodbyes to them as they’re spending this month in the mountains.
The bus has just pulled away from the station.
From Aosta, I could throw a rock north into Switzerland or west into France. I could pitch it to the top of Mont Blanc. Great to have this opportunity to see another spot in Italy, one of its mountainous regions. This is part of my “Say Yes!” program: say “yes” to what presents itself.
(Late in the ride, this is the closest I got to a view of Mont Blanc, obscured by clouds.)
2:30
As we head deeper into the Valle d’Aosta, the proximity to Switzerland is apparent. The architecture has changed. Rooftops bear flat, gray slate instead of red tile.
(This very old rooftop has lost its distinctive fish-scale pattern as the slate has broken up.)
The mountains are steep at both north and south. Vineyards face southwest on steep slopes.
Castles sit atop high promontories. Lettering has changed to old gothic. I’m sure the language is different, too. The rivers are gray-green and opaque. (Language is the “secret, magic decoder ring” to other worlds.)
Aosta 3:15
Switch buses and then continue on to Cogne, (pronounced CONE-nyay) 50 minutes south, into the mountains. Signs are in Italian and/or French. Houses look like Americans’ stereotypical view of Swiss chalets, complete with decorations of gnomes and trolls. This is a different italy. Imagine how UNlike it is to Napoli and Sicilia!
This is a deep, narrow valley. Houses and farm fields climb the slopes to the north and south of town. An alpine community, certainly.
I think of their having united as one Republic less than 100 years ago (1946). About like binding New York City with Montana: separate worlds without commonality.
(“This way to beds in Europe.” Are Holiday Inns everywhere?)
by Maureen | Jul 24, 2010 | Introspection, Journal, Quips
One week from today, at this time, I will have schlepped my bags by taxi and train to Milano Malpensa airport; checked in, with machine gun carrying guards in the mezzanine above me; gone through security; waited; flown over the Alps to London two hours north; gone through security again; eaten an airport meal; wound my way through Heathrow; boarded, gotten settled and begun my 9 hour flight back to Seattle.
I just went grocery shopping. What favorite foods do I want to eat again (and again) before I go? I bought bresaola, and mortadella with pistachios, buffalo milk fresh mozzarella, fresh figs and sicilian tomatoes. One (or two) more meals of octopus? Who do I want to see and say goodbye to? How many more last hurrahs with my girlfriends? Where do I want to go? What will wish I had photographed?
As I buy groceries and supplies this week, I have to calculate how much I can use in six days. As I go for a bike ride, or subway ride, I have to realize it may be the last one (for a long while).
From a journal entry today:
“I have grown a sweet affection for this country. It’s not the starry-eyed, naive enthusiasm of a tourist’s love of the sights. But it’s a complex recognition of the quirks, an all-too-recent connection with individuals along my path, the creation for myself of a way of being, and as yet, merely a hint of who these people are. How can I stay away for long? I am leaving a part of myself here, and have lodged a part of Italy in my heart, to carry with me. Under what circumstances will I return, and for how long?”
