by Maureen | Feb 4, 2010 | Introspection, Journal, Quips
Sun in my eyes yesterday and the day before! Temperatures in the 40s demanded that I mount two wheels and head off along the canal for a ride. Divine. I haven’t been a cyclist for about 30 years so it surprises me how much I’ve taken to this biking. During and after my ride is when I feel my absolute best. I’m hooked on that sensation: I get hot and sweaty; I breathe hard; I feel both energized and relaxed at the same time. It’s when I feel most prayerful, grateful for having a healthy body ABLE to make such rides!
As often as I’m riding – (I guess I’m pretty gung-ho if I’m still riding in temperatures in the 30s!) – it should not be surprising that the faces on the bike trail are now familiar to me, and I’ve become a part of that community. How unexpected! Now, after 7 months on the canal path, the other cyclists and I exchange our acknowledgements: a nod, a hand raised from the handlebar grip, a “ciao” or “salve” (more formal) as we whiz past each other. Sometimes I’ll tuck in behind another rider and use his speed as incentive to work harder. Other times, a rider and I will sprint together and have an out-of-breath conversation as we ride, then wish each other well when we arrive at our separate routes.
Along the way I see the very hard core bike jocks on their streamlined bikes, wearing their lycra race gear. These guys are serious! Then there are the “intermediate” cyclists, still out just for the ride but not quite such jocks. I encounter the men with bikes-as-transportation getting from point A to point B, and the fishermen carrying nets and rods.
MAYBE I can count one other woman in 200 or 300 riders! Where are the women riders? Are women at home? At work? Is it considered unfeminine for a woman to be sweating and racing, pushing hard in that way? What statement is made by the absence of women on the bike trail? The city’s main outdoor gear store has a large bike section but offers next to nothing for the female cyclist. A male cyclist friend explains, “there aren’t any”.
That must be why they crane their necks as I ride by. Here in Italy, I’m an anomaly in the wheeled community, but it’s nice to be acknowledged with a rolling “ciao”.
by Maureen | Jan 15, 2010 | Canals, Discoveries, Featured Articles, Journal, Photo of the Day, Photos, Quips
January 7, at 40 degrees on a gray day, I bundled up and hopped on my bike for a ride along the canal. Down a ways, with a construction site on the opposite shore, I spotted a calico looking quite content, “meatloafing” on a pallet of concrete blocks. The guy smoking on the balcony beyond must have thought it odd for a cyclist to stop and shoot such an image. As I was remounting my bike, a tortoise-shell that I hadn’t noticed jumped up from another pile of building materials.
by Maureen | Jan 11, 2010 | Canals, Discoveries, Featured Articles, Incredible Locations, Journal, People, Photo of the Day, Photos
“I was born in 1945 during the war years and I grew up with family members all around me talking about politics and The War. They didn’t always agree. I think that being surrounded by these discussions as a child is why I love history so much today.”
Today Angelo became my second personal tour guide in two weeks, giving me yet another “3-hour-tour”. I just rode my bike all around the countryside southwest of Milano with my “History Buff on Wheels”.
Angelo pointed out the “Fontanile di Vernate” one of the places where the spring forms a pond.
Oh yes. So lovely decked out in my winter riding gear…
When the sun came in the window this morning for the first time in ages, it woke me up and promised me a 45 degree day and my treasured, usual bike ride. I got the day, but not my usual ride. After pedaling along the Naviglio Pavese for about 20 minutes, I caught up with another rider and remarked how nice it was to be out. We talked for a minute or two as we rode, then I zipped ahead feeling full of energy and wanting to go faster. But he caught up with me. It was Angelo. We rode on, talking all the way. Feeling spontaneous and trusting, I agreed to his suggestion that we ride on further than I normally would have gone.
(I usually keep my rides to an hour and a half or two hours, and haven’t done much exploration alone on the more remote bike paths.)
Sure! Encounter some man on the bike trail and follow him all over the countryside! But of course!
We ended up riding on the narrow roads that wind between rice fields and other farm land. The whole time Angelo was relaying the history of Milan, Italy, Europe, WWII, Mussolini and Hitler… Berlusconi, Bush and Obama. He talked about the hardships during the wartime and how people were sustained by the rice of southwest Milano. (He doesn’t speak a word of English, by the way.)
Angelo’s father’s birthplace is in the distance, where the church steeple is.
He pointed out where both his mother and father were born, and where they are both buried (Zibido San Giacomo). Angelo took me to old, fortified “cascine” – country farmsteads with castle-like main buildings and outbuildings – most refurbished and still in use as modern-day farms carrying on. He pointed out places where Leonardo da Vinci had been, worked, designed and created. Leonardo’s hand and mind are all over this local land.
The entrance to Cascina Femegro.
Within the inner courtyard of Cascina Femegro is this beautiful arched doorway. Straight across from it, 100 yards, are cattle in their stalls. A little girl was riding on her tricycle.
I saw a shrine in Zibido to Padre Pio (who had the “stigmata” markings matching Christ’s); the sarcophagus of San Giacomo, c. II-IX cent. – St. James – in the central courtyard of the town by the same name; and an old cascina, “Ca’ Grande”, Palazzina Pusteria Busca Pozzi.
Shrine in Zibido to Padre Pio
The church at Zibido San Giacomo.
Sarcophagus of San Giacomo.
This is the memorial to those from the town of Zibido San Giacomo that have died in the wars.
An old cascina, “Ca’ Grande”, Palazzina Pusteria Busca Pozzi.
(While riding through Zibido, Angelo’s daughter passed us in her car, going home. He rode to the house a half block away and told her about “this American woman”.)
Angelo explained the “marchite” – marshes – the rich, fertile land perennially wet from “i fontanili”, the underground aquifers and springs of the area. During the winter the ground’s surface may freeze but the ground itself is kept warm by the rising water. The farmed land has been formed into wide, humped rows, allowing the water to flow between the rows; the row peaks begin to grow grass earlier in the Spring than other locales. The milk from cows raised on this grass is said to be superlative.
Le Marchite – The Marsh Farmlands
An old “cascino” back alongside the Naviglio Pavese, at the turnoff to Zibido; I think Angelo said it was “San Lorenzo”. Leonardo spent time here. In the inner courtyard, there are bas-relief busts of various people jutting from the walls.
We figured this one must be Leonardo.
Of course there’s a cat in the courtyard!
Our route today was: South along the Naviglio Pavese to Binasco. West to Vernate and Calvignasco. North up through Rosate, back east to Noviglio, Mairano and Zibido San Giacomo. Angelo rode almost all the way back to Milano with me, to within 10 minutes of my apartment. He wanted to show me the maritime locks along the canal that Leonardo had designed.
Our route – in yellow – through the farmland. My usual route is down the canal to Binasco and straight back. I’m going to feel this unusually long ride tomorrow!
He suggested I make a ride sometime to the Morimondo Abbey founded in 1136, and to the town of Vigevano to see a show of Leonardo’s work.
(I’m on stun. I could not craft these experiences if I tried!)
by Maureen | Dec 20, 2009 | Christmas & New Year's Eve, Featured Articles, Journal, Photo of the Day, Photos
In addition to the International Festival of Light that’s present in Milano right now, there are special light displays and decorations all over town. I like the illuminated scrolls that line the major avenues, these along Via Alessandro Manzoni, through the center of town:
Brera is the chic, creative, cultural neighborhood north of the Duomo. It’s home to theatres, museums and the Academy of Fine Arts, among other things:
Isn’t this a beautiful “chandelier” along Corso Garibaldi? The lighted animals are part of the international exhibition. There are several clusters of them spaced along the sidewalk:
The navigli, (canals), have their share of lights, too, and make for a nice stroll or boat ride:
Come up out of the Moscova metro stop, and you’re faced with a towering tree of these violet-lit spheres:
Standing at the entrance to Via Mercanti, I laughed at the conjunction of the decorative leaf of light, the street lamps, the curvaceous stone sculpture, the statue of Vittorio Emanuele II in the Piazza del Duomo, and the huge video display. What an array!
by Maureen | Nov 29, 2009 | Discoveries, Introspection, Journal, People, Quips
One of my cousins just wrote to me and asked, “What are the highlights of your time in Milan… so far?”
I’ve been mulling it over all day. Hard one to answer. I think the highlights have been mostly little things, little bright moments or little challenges surmounted. Many a gorgeous sight and delicious meal, yes. But also the small communications, triumphant in my limited, but growing, Italian.
A week or so after arriving in June, I was given only an address and told to go apply for a “codice fiscale“, an official financial code. I googled the location, took the metro, arose out of the subway and walked 20 blocks or so to a huge, government building. I entered and somehow figured out where to go, which long line to stand in, what to ask for, what to do with the papers the guy gave me, where to wait, how to know when it was my turn and what desk to approach when my number came up. I answered her questions, in Italian, thanked the woman and walked out with my stamped paper. I could now get a bank account.
After having been here for one hot month, I wandered off to find the Antiques Market in the art district, Brera. I browsed for a bit and in a while it was time for lunch. The restaurants in the very narrow lane had their chalkboard menus posted. The octopus kept enticing me, so I stopped at the restaurant offering it and was seated outside. The neighboring table was one inch away. How can one not talk to people that are sitting just one inch away? Ewa and Piotr are Polish and Polish/German and have been in Milan for 30 years. We talked for 2 hours in a blend of English and Italian; I lost track of what language was being spoken at any given moment in our conversation. Four months later, we are still getting together at their home once a week for practice of both English and Italian. Ewa feeds me well each time and our friendship is deepening. Last week we spoke of women, relationships, work and independence… all in Italian.
Two months ago, while out riding my bike along the canal, I stopped to shoot a picture. At my feet in the grass was an empty coin purse (save for a personal note from 2004) and a ring of keys: apartment, office, mailbox, coffee machine, bike lock and others. Fortunately, one of the “keys” was a digital fob for a bank account; press the button and it generates a new, random number for bank account access. I took the keys home and they sat while I wondered what to do with them. The likelihood of finding the owner?! Slim, but I couldn’t bear to just throw the keys away. Friends couldn’t suggest much. One night, I approached a young, local policeman at the street corner, but I didn’t have the keys with me. He said to bring them to the station or give them to any officer I saw in town. Days later, I had the keys and was glad to see another policeman; when I told him the story, in Italian, he said there was nothing that could be done. I was disappointed, but had one last idea. I took the keys to my own bank, because I, too, have a digital key fob. If they could tell me which bank used the particular fob that was on the lost key ring, perhaps that bank could look up the ID number on the back of the fob. “Of Course!”, my bank teller said, “It’s Banca Monte dei Paschi di Siena“. He looked up the address of the nearest bank office, and I set off walking. I waited for the bank assistant to finish his phone conversation. I explained about the keys, he punched numbers into the computer and called the manager over. They talked, checked various screens on the computer, and picked up the phone. Both the manager and assistant shook my hand as the call connected. After who knows how many months, the guy was getting his keys back, and I was elated.
Like I said, the real highlights have been the little things that amounted to big triumphs. The difference between being a tourist and being a resident is interaction and relationships, and the key to that is language. It pleases me to have built my Italian up enough so that I could HAVE these interactions. I can actually get to know people. THAT is my greatest highlight!
by Maureen | Oct 11, 2009 | Canals, Discoveries, Featured Articles, Food!, Journal, Photo of the Day, Photos
Wow. An absolutely gorgeous day in Milano. Is this what Fall is like in Italy?! Sunny after some 2:00 a.m., drenching downpours recently. Fresh air, yet nicely warm. No humidity to be bothered with. It was a day that screamed for a bike ride along the canal.
Fish are always present in the Naviglio Pavese Canal, and I’ve been told they’re fussy about biting. I see them when glancing over as I ride along. Sometime in the last week or so they’ve lowered the water level down to just a couple of feet. Perhaps this has affected the fish, and perhaps it’s just their biology (spawning time?) but now they are clustered in clouds! AND I saw three of four that were brilliant gold or gold and black. Koi let loose? Whatever the reason, I had to stop and simply watch them.
I still don’t know what kind of fish they are. One day I stopped to chat with an elder fisherman and I should have had pen and paper with me to write down what he told me. “Trota” was one fish that was easy to remember. Trout! But I see a few others with different markings and body shapes, which keep up my curiosity.
by Maureen | Oct 11, 2009 | Canals, Featured Articles, Journal, Meals, Shopping & Markets
Nope. It’s not a Vespa-type scooter or a little car. It’s a little fish.
A couple of months ago, while at the Saturday market, I was overwhelmed by the seafood choices I had no familiarity with. No halibut, salmon or rock cod here. There was fish I knew nothing about except for a couple I had ordered from menus: orata and branzino. “But what do I do with it?” Besides. I had neither a filet knife nor knife sharpener, so I was ill-prepared.
Having just returned from a visit to Seattle this week, (filet knife and EZE-Lap sharpener in hand), hankerin’ for fish*, and doing a “fast stroll” near the Naviglio Grande (the big canal) I found a street-side fish market in my path. “Uno branzino”, I said to the guy. He wrapped it up. I paid 4 Euro, 6 bucks. I threw it in my bag and went on to shop for fabric. (Fabric and fish in the same bag? Hmm.)
(*By the way, can one ” have a hankerin’ ” in Italy. I’m not sure the translation works.)
Saturday evening. Canal-side. The place was lively with people strolling at a slow pace. Here I was, trying to keep my usual 4.5 mile-per-hour Indian Trail pace. (Fat chance, Maureen. Take it easy! Relax for once.) Maybe that’s something Italy will teach me: how to stroll properly, without being “on a mission”.
At 7:00, I stepped into the little fabric store NOT like those in the U.S.! Dark, jammed floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall, and much of it had probably been there a long time. I was looking for, and found, fabric for a baby quilt. (Just try buying quilting supplies in Italian!) I left moments before they closed at 7:30.
It was the first time in 4 months I had gone out in public wearing blue jeans (!) and tennis shoes (not quite blinding white). I had been cleaning all day and felt like being comfy. At 8:00 in the evening, sleeveless, it was muggy enough that I was working up a sticky sweat. (All the more reason to slow down.) Most everyone else was either paired up or on-the-make, so blue jeans and tennis shoes never entered their minds, I’m sure!
Meanwhile, I had a scantily-wrapped branzino in my bag with baby quilt fabric, so I figured I’d better hustle to the grocery store, buy whatever else I needed, and get home and cook!
I hadn’t noticed at the fish stall that the fish had not been gutted. No problem. I’ve gutted many a fish in my day. And I found out that branzino, (which is actually a European Seabass), has a pretty wicked, spiny dorsal fin! A pair of scissors made short work of those half dozen thorns.
Based on it’s size, roughly 11″ stem-to-stern, I figured I could cook a branzino much like a nice-sized rainbow trout. Flour, salt, pepper, mixed herbs…and since I had just been in Seattle, I threw in some of Chef Tom Douglas’ Salmon Rub (Brown Sugar, Paprika and thyme). A little extra virgin in my new grill pan, crank up the heat and throw on the fish. Veggies searing in the pan next door promised a lovely dinner.
(By the way, note the pan in the upper left. I’ve boiled water for coffee twice and that’s the amount of white, calcium build-up that occurs! I have to scrub the pan hard every day.)
Ahh. The smell of fish cooking with oil. One would think it’s a good time to open the windows, especially on a muggy night! No way! I wouldn’t sleep all night; the mosquitos would eat me alive. I opted for the fishy smell and a good night’s sleep.
“Mr. Branzino” cooked for about 20 minutes or so. Perfection. A glass of Grillo from Sicilia, a couple slices of cornmeal bread and at 9:30 I was ready to eat. Note that the branzino is served up right alongside my Mac, my updated to-do list, the utility bill from the landlady, a job ticket, trip receipts and hardware warranty info.
Delicately flavored. White. Moist. Cooked perfectly. Mmm. In trout fashion, I lifted the tail and peeled the spine and upper half away from the lower. I didn’t eat the skin because trying to scale the fish earlier had been making more of a mess than necessary, so I simply lifted the fish flakes away from the skin and gobbled them. Then I flipped the other half, easily lifted the skeleton and enjoyed the rest of the fish. What a delicious meal!
FROM WIKIPEDIA:
The European seabass, Dicentrarchus labrax, also known as Morone labrax, is a primarily ocean-going fish that sometimes enters brackish and fresh water. It is also known as the sea dace. As a food fish, it is often marketed as mediterranean seabass, bronzini or branzini(“branzino” is the name of the fish in Northern Italy; in other parts of the country it is called “spigola” or “ragno”). In Spain, it is called “lubina”. It has silver sides and a white belly. Juvenile fish maintain black spots on the back and sides, a feature that can create confusion with Dicentrarchus punctatus. This fish’s operculum is serrated and spined. It can grow to a total length of over 1 m (3.3 ft) and 15 kg of weight.
Its habitats include estuaries, lagoons, coastal waters and rivers. It is found in the waters in and around Europe, including the eastern Atlantic Ocean (from Norway to Senegal), the Mediterranean Sea and the Black Sea.
It is mostly a night hunter, feeding on small fish, polychaetes, cephalopods and crustaceans.
The fish has come under increasing pressure from commercial fishing and has recently become the focus in the United Kingdom of a conservation effort by recreational anglers. In Italy the seabass is subject of intensive breeding in salt waters.
by Maureen | Sep 17, 2009 | Canals, Discoveries, Journal, Quips
Just had an hour and a half bike ride. A BIG snake crossed my path. Little frogs jumped out of the mud puddles in front of me as I approached. Something rustled in the grass next to me. No muskrats tonight, but the cats all perked up their ears and looked at me when I squeaked at them. It smelled like a cooling Fall evening in Eastern Washington, with the absolutely delicious scent of poplar pitch, and the not-so-delicious scent of fruit rotting on the ground. Old men fished along the bank of the canal. The usual group of skirt-and-dress-clad elder women were clustered closely and on their slow stroll.
As two “serious” bikers – Ciclisti Milanesi – with their tight calves, tight back ends and snug, sky-blue lycra passed me, I picked up the pace, pulled in behind them and enjoyed the scenery. As we approached an intersection, I jested to them, in Italian, that I should take a picture! They slowed to my side, I repeated what I had said, then whizzed on in front of them. They took the paved bike lane; I opted for the rugged, rutted, puddled route, and thus, encountered the leaping frogs.
by Maureen | Sep 11, 2009 | Canals, Discoveries, Featured Articles, Journal, Photos
When I rode along the canal the other day, sure enough, the corn field had been cut bare. There were two men out gleaning, walking up and down each corn row looking for remnants. They had filled their wheel-barrow full.
They seemed puzzled about this woman in her hot pink bike top stopping in the corn field. I held up my camera and yelled to them that I was taking photos. They nodded and continued on. So did I.
by Maureen | Sep 10, 2009 | Canals, Discoveries, Featured Articles, Food!, Journal, Photos
I HAVE made “Muskrat Cacciatore” before, but that was long ago and far away. It was pretty darned good, (yes, it DID taste “just like chicken”) but I think this big guy might be a bit tough. He’s got to be TWICE the size of my head, the granddaddy of them all.
There’s a group of seven muskrats that I see every evening that I go for a ride along the canal. They have a favored spot with some brush for cover if they want it, but they seem fairly used to the bike and foot traffic going by, and nonchalantly continue to forage for roots at the tree bases in “their spot”. They don’t seem to be bothered by anyone (hunted or trapped). There are “no hunting” signs posted along the bikeway.
Imagine, 15 minutes by bike south of Milan – a major, international, cosmopolitan city – and there are “no hunting” signs and muskrats having the time of their lives!
*Acknowledgements to B. Kliban and his wonderfully bizarre humor.
His book title came immediately to mind.
