Journal Entry: Wednesday, 12 September 2018 – Milan
Did I really just arrive in my home-away-from-home, Milan, this morning?! Here I am again. And it all feels so easy and familiar. Not that there is nothing new or no challenge. There is still much to see, explore, discover, learn. This place stretches me differently than Burien and Seattle. AND it’s a time entirely for me. (This is my 11th year of coming here.)
My apartment on the 5th floor, (circled), above the Naviglio night life.
I’m in a 5th floor walkup apartment*, no elevator. 90 Steps up to the front door. The entrance looks out over inner courtyards, gold-hued stucco, tile rooftops. Inside, there is an opening window from floor to ceiling that looks directly down onto the Naviglio Grande (the Grand Canal) and it’s changing bustle. The white noise of wine-fueled conversation during the evening aperitivo is oddly comfortable. *(The Italians call it the 4th floor; the ground floor is floor zero.)
The view to the south from the apartment entry door.
The view to the north from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Naviglio Grande.
Other than celebrating my birthday in 3 days, and honoring Patti on the 2nd anniversary of her death, and having 2 girlfriends come here for 2 weeks… I don’t have a big, new goal or purpose for this trip. It’s just that I can’t not have my time in Italia, for whatever it is to me.
Journal Entry: Friday, 14 September 2018 – Milan, 8:30 a.m.
Sitting canalside, way up high, listening to morning sounds of church and cyclists’ bells, deliveries on cobblestone, traffic, sidewalk conversations. The city awakens.
Yesterday, I made my pilgrimage into the center of town to the Duomo (Cathedral) di Milano – which I love – and then strolled around through the adjacent Galleria and to Luini’s for a Panzerotto. Just being here with ease and familiarity… Feeling nestled in as much as a foreigner can.
The Duomo di Milano
Near the southeast corner of the Duomo, there is a sculpture of a disemboweled man. I suppose the sculptures and paintings were meant to inspire the illiterate masses to live according to the Church’s tenets… or suffer the consequences.
The domed, glass roof of the Galleria.
One of the Louis Vuitton window displays in the Galleria.
Luini’s was established in 1888 and is a popular spot with locals and those that stumble upon it, tucked onto a side street just north of the Duomo. They sell Panzerotti: stuffed, deep-fried (or baked) hot pockets. Lots of filling options!
Along the Naviglio Grande (Grand Canal) the San Cristoforo dragon boats and kayaks cruise through every day, to the beat of a drummer to keep time, occasionally accompanied by the church bells. (CanottieriSanCristoforo.it)
Journal Entry: Thursday, 20 September 2018 – Milan
Days have been hot and humid, but have turned delicious, from 75 – 80 degrees and a freshness from a few nighttime showers.
View from the sleeping loft, down into the living room and beyond, to the Naviglio night life.
It is rather dreamy that I “get” to do this. But really, there’s no “getting” involved. I have made and do make different choices and I’ve structured my life so that I can spend some of it here in an entirely different place and mode.
My Farmer’s Market Purchases: Clockwise, from upper left: Taralli with black pepper, produce bag with the Duomo on it, Borlotti beans, castelvetrano olives, pickled onions, turkish figs, yellow peaches, onions, tuna stuffed red peppers, green string beans.
This feeds me, and it pushes me. Foreign country, language, customs. And Milan. An international seat of design, which gives it such contrast and stark visual appeal. The old history, side-by-side with clean, high design, honed and spare. I thrill at Milan. Every city could take a lesson from its well-defined branding and identity.
The recycling trucks start along the Naviglio Grande at about 6:00 in the morning. Since the Naviglio is such a restaurant and drinking hot spot, there are thousands of bottles to be collected. The sound they make when dumped is such a crashing clamor to wake up to!
Journal Entry: Saturday, 22 September 2018 – Milan
Warm day. The Naviglio is in a relaxed stroll. A street musician is playing his guitar along the canal, out in front of the elementary school. The white noise of conversation at outdoor, umbrella-covered cafè tables drifts up to my open window, high above. I marvel that this is possible. That I can pack my bags, bring my work and step into this life for a period. Remarkable.
Journal Entry. 1 Gennaio 2017 (January 1, 2017) – Milano
Day 3 of a cold that has kept me layin’ low. Enforced rest. Certainly no kicking-up-my-heels last night. By 8:30 p.m. I was yearning for sleep.
New Year’s Eve, 2009/2010 I stayed at home here, writing, as I generally do. I could have gone to the Piazza del Duomo then, for the Italian New Year’s festivities. Instead, I listened to the fireworks outside, while seated at the long table in my home on Via Bordighera.
The opportunity for a carefree, celebratory hurrah in front of the Duomo has passed. The reports I see from last night show the beloved cathedral and its perimeter barricaded, armored, protected by police and military with machine guns. All holiday revelers faced searches and long lines to proceed through to the New Year’s concert. The metro stops to the Duomo were closed completely.
It was, in fact, leading up to this as Christmas approached, too. Feeling spirited and festive, Piazza del Duomo visitors enjoyed the advent concerts amidst heavily armed military and barricades.
Last night, lying in bed as midnight approached, I listened to fireworks, but also sounds that could have easily been real bombs. How would I have known? After each explosion, sometimes feeling my bed shake, I listened for sirens – or their absence – and took the pulse by the tone of voices I heard out in the courtyard. I figured that if there were true danger, then sirens and voices would speak of such urgency.
This morning I read in the news reports of mayhem along the Naviglio Pavese, just two blocks away. I guess that some of those ka-booms may have, indeed, been bombs.
It’s come to this: proactive protection of beloved, sacred places; the thought that a loud “bang” could indeed be a bomb; The adjustment to and acceptance of bodily searches; the anticipation of attacks; the realization that every conspicuous, large gathering is potentially a vulnerable target and, therefore, a gut-driven avoidance of such crowds.
Does that mean the terrorists have won? They, who have no regard of life, cultural treasure or community well-being have changed us. They have changed how we think and what we do. Whether they kill any more people or destroy any more cultural heritage sites, or not, they have gotten into our heads.
I looked at New Year’s Eve reports in the Seattle Times and only found beautiful pictures of fireworks emanating from the Space Needle. There was no mention of machine guns or barricades. I guess we still enjoy being in an imaginary bubble there. (We’re more visibly armed against each other than we are against outside threats.)
When here in Europe, sitting so close to the center of a major, international city, I suppose I’m closer to genuine danger than when I’m sitting in my lovely home in Burien, looking out over the water. But I still chose to come. This is the first year (of 9 in a row) when the suspicion of danger, and the armament against it, has been so evident. Much has changed in the world in 9 years.
Many years ago in an Adult-Ed program, a particular exercise guided me in seeing when and how I was influenced by my fears, from the smallest hesitations to the largest decisions. It was eye-opening and a jolt to my view of myself. Since then, I have tried to at least recognize when it’s been fear that’s been constraining my choices. I don’t like to think of my decisions and outlook as being fear-based.
How do we reconcile it all? How do we balance fear and openness? How do we listen to the daily, world news reports and not develop protective callouses? How do we see machine guns and not succumb to the fear they arouse? (And that’s not even talking about the places in the midst of outright war!)
Being right here, right now, has made the world situation undeniable and right-up-in-my-face. The challenge then, is to acknowledge the terrors that exist, be prudently alert, choose openness anyway, then seek out and marvel at the kindnesses that reveal themselves at an individual level. It’s what I must do to keep from cowering, afraid.
When friends start planning their trips to Italy, they immediately think of going to Tuscany – Toscana. And when they ask me about my time in Italy, they often say, “Oh! Like Under the Tuscan Sun! Or Eat, Pray, Love!” No… and no.
I think that the notoriety of those films/books, coupled with the publicity generated by a particular Pacific Northwest local that has made a name for himself through travel, have swayed the perception of Italy and the “right” location of treasures to experience. Thus, Tuscany gets all the attention.
I’ve now been in and through 19 of the 20 regions of Italy and I can tell you that each one is its own sort of gem. Each region has its own food culture, its own medieval, hilltop towns, and its own swoon-inducing beauty. (Sardegna is the last hold-out of the 20 regions. On the list for next year.)
The central piazza in Città di Castello.
So many have said to me, “We ‘did‘ Florence. We ‘did‘ Rome. We ‘did‘ Venice. We ‘did‘ Cinque Terre…” (And only one of those is in Tuscany, by the way.) Each of those places is marvelous beyond belief. Each of those will make you head-over-heels in love with Italy. Yet you can come to Italy, never go to any of those Big Four, and if you’re willing to nestle in and root around, you can come away as enthralled as ever. You can meet people not yet weary of tourist throngs, eat foods specific to a 50 kilometer radius, find lodging in buildings from the 1400s. History, Art, Culture, Foods… and open-hearted folks are scattered from the heel and toe of The Boot in the south, all the way up to the mountainous top of The Boot in the north, (where you have to remind yourself that you’re still in Italy).
Fresh tagliatelle with shaved black truffles in Umbria.
I keep coming back here and to all that Italy offers of itself to me. I have nestled in. I have rooted around. And now this place has roots in me and a part of me is at home here. Now I can’t stay away. I crave the hearts of those that have become dear to me. I crave the foods I can’t find in Seattle. I yearn for the visual details that ignite my artist/designer’s eye. This is the eighth year that I have made this trek and long pause in this foreign country (including one 14 month stint). It has become hardly “foreign” anymore, and more familiar. I’ve “gone deep” and it pleases me.
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From Milano, eastward almost to the coast of the Adriatic Sea, then south to Città di Castello, Assisi, Bevagna and Orvieto in Umbria, then west to Follónica on the opposite coast, then back up north past Pisa, the exit for le Cinque Terre and back to Milano.
Last week I ventured into the land-locked center of the country to the region of Umbria, with my friend and incredible painter, Loredano Rizzotti. Umbria was region number 19 on my list and we had an itinerary that included Città di Castello, Assisi, Bevagna and Orvieto, ending in the seaside town of Follónica. All I can say is “Go to Umbria!” It’s lovely. There’s MUCH to see and many flavors to savor.
Today was a clear-sky day in Milano after a day, yesterday, of downpours. It’s on the brink of autumn. All was right with the world as I went out to do my grocery shopping one block up the road toward the Duomo. I continue to marvel at my being here, and count my blessings.
Stormy, wild wind and rain last night here in Milano. End of summer, early fall. But I arrived four days ago to a day that was fresh and bright and comfortable. The kind of day that makes one relax into the perfection of the moment. I had returned to my home-away-from-home.
This is the eighth year that I’ve made this “pilgrimage”, here to fill myself up with inspiration through a life so very much unlike that which I lead the rest of the year. Everything is different: my pace, my friends, my menu choices. Milano’s very urban surroundings yield proximity to everything, both an historic and contemporary built environment, the contrast of chaos and beauty. As a visual person, artist and designer, my eyes just can’t get enough of this place, this Italy. Details at every turn spark me. My time here in Italy, making Milano my home, adds to my perspective, shapes me and gives me something to take back to my Burien. I am so well-fed here, in all ways.
Eating Well
“Un caffè normale” – This is what you get if you order coffee. It’s the beginning of each day and the end of every meal.
Un caffè in an 1850’s cup.
Carlotta Cafè
The Carlotta Cafè has been a favorite of mine for the last 8 years.
They are dear people that I rush to see when I arrive.
Son, Erik, has learned the family recipes at the Carlotta Cafè, (named after his sister), and carves a whole, roasted pig for a large dinner party. Ninni, Erik’s father, stands in the background.
Insalata Tiepida di Piovra e Patate – Warm Salad of Octopus and Potatoes. My favorite! Fresh, marinated anchovies in the background.
Al Coniglio Bianco – The White Rabbit
A favorite, wonderful place along the Grand Canal – Naviglio Grande – owned by friend, Giampiero, and serving great food and wine: Al Coniglio Bianco.
Al Coniglio Bianco offers seating outside, along the canal, as well as within its intimate, cozy interior.
Foodstuffs gathered at Al Coniglio Bianco.
A large skillet of mussels, clams and scampi on paccheri pasta with a simple, fresh tomato sauce. (Frankie’s, in Burien, should take a lesson…)
After plucking shellfish and crustaceans in their lovely sauce, the napkin was rather soiled.
Al Pont de Ferr – “At the Iron Bridge”
A wonderful, and unusual, selection of breads on the table at Pont de Ferr.
Appetizers of a slider, stuff olive and patè morsel.
Risotto with pesto and green beans.
Tortelli with zabaglione and fresh peas.
Part of a mid-day snack: “Nervetti”, a pressed loaf of beef tendons, nerves and cartilage, prepared with onions. (I think it’d be good on pizza.)
Time with Friends
Painter friends along the canal: Luigi Marchesi, Loredano Rizzotti and Renato Giananti.
For the record, “Italian Food” is SO much more than pizza, spaghetti, ravioli and fettucine alfredo. In fact, “fettucine alfredo” doesn’t exist except in the restaurants catering to tourists away from home looking for their favorite edible myth.
Hold your hand up in front of you with your thumb and forefinger a half inch apart. That measures the typical range Americans imagine of the variety of food in Italy. Now, stick your arms straight out to your sides. That’s the REAL measure of the bountiful range of edible deliciousness you’ll encounter in Italy. And that bounty is not at all spread uniformly throughout “the boot”. You can go 50 kilometers and find a completely different food culture. There are some foods you’ll find in one town only.
I urge you. When you answer that call to go explore Italy, please don’t fall back on ordering pizza, spaghetti and ravioli. Sure, they will be good, and not like what you’ve had in America. Rather, find out what the local specialty is and eat it with gusto. And please, whatever you do, don’t seek out that well-known, international hamburger chain. You’ll be in the land of good food! Eat well! You might just find your next, new favorite dish.
In the last month, I stayed in the north of Italy: Milano, Sanremo, Genova, Pavia and small towns scattered in the hills south of Milan. The following photos show a selection of the dishes I ate with great pleasure.
(For contrast, check out “Eating the South” to see some of the foods I enjoyed when I traveled in Sicily, the southern coast and “heel of the boot” in 2011.)
(Click on the first photo to view the images “plate-size” and click through the slide show.)
Sardenara
Sardenara, freshly made by my friend, Sandra. Foccacia dough base with a simple tomato sauce, anchovies, taggiasche olives, capers and a few garlic cloves. Sanremo
Tortelli di Verdura
Tortelli di Verdura. Trattoria da Pasquale. Parasacco (south of Milano)
Salumi and caprese
Salumi and cheese plate with caprese. Sanremo
Octopus and potato salad. My favorite!
Warm octopus and potato salad – Insalata di piovra e patate. Carlotta Cafè. Milano
Fresh cheese and bread
High in the hills and hungry near Pizzocorno, we stopped at a cheese maker’s farm and bought a few slices of cheese and bread, to be eaten on a slab of wood as our table. Pizzocorno, Oltrepò Pavese
Lemon sorbet with fresh strawberries
Lemon sorbet with fresh strawberries
Pizza and beer
Pizza and Birra Moretti along the Grand Canal – Naviglio Grande. Milano
An UN-Italian breakfast
Sauteed zucchini, onion, beets and a little cheese formed and baked. Old silver and linen. Milano
Cheese with potato crust and pickled vegetables
Cheese in a crust of potato threads, with pickled vegetables. – Formaggio salva in crosta di palate con giardiniera. Trattoria Il Postiglione, Rubbiano di Credera
Pasta with beet sauce and gorgonzola cheese
Paccheri pasta with pureed beet sauce and gorgonzola ‘piccante’, cooked by painter, Loredano Rizzotti. Milano
Pasta with snails
House-made tagliatelle pasta with nettles and garlic sweetened with vine snails and mascarpone. Tagliatelle alle ortiche e aglio addolcito con lumache di vigna e mascarpone. Trattoria Il Postiglione, Rubbiano di Credera
Guinea fowl and garden vegetables
Free-range guinea fowl cooked with black tea, served with garden vegetables. – Faraona ruspante al thè nero con verdure dell’ orto. Trattoria Il Postiglione, Rubbiano di Credera
Baked apple with fresh strawberries
Baked apple slices with fresh strawberries and cinnamon. Milano
UN-Italian Salad
Not a typical Italian ‘insalatone’ – big salad – with greens, fresh asparagus, tomato and basil. Milano
Mixed, fried foods
‘Frito Misto’, a mix of fried foods, including zucchini flowers, fish, arancine (deep fried rice balls). Milano
Pasta with meat ragú and asparagus
Egg pasta with white meat sauce and asparagus. – Stracci di pasta all’uova con ragù di carni bianche e asparagi. Trattoria Il Postiglione, Rubbiano di Credera
Lunch table setting
Lunch table setting with Ewa and Loredano. Milano
Lunch table setting
Lunch table setting
Cabbage, onion, carrot, egg
After going into ‘carb overload’, I craved some veggies with a little protein: cabbage, onion, carrot and egg. Milano
Italian breakfast
This is the typical Italian breakfast: a shot of caffè – ‘espresso’ – and a pastry, often filled with Nutella or some other horribly sweet concoction. (Just can’t do it, myself.) Pasticceria Cucchi. Milano
Appetizer bread and veggie tarts
Appetizers of bread and veggie tarts. Genova
Prosciutto, salame and lardo
Prosciutto, salame and lardo – yes, LARD. Mmm. Try it. Delicious. L’Ustaria di Giùgaton, Pavia
How to drink wine at the Gíügaton
How to drink wine at the Gíügaton. There’s even a way to hold it in your hands. L’Ustaria di Giùgaton, Pavia
Pisarè
Pisarè – A combination of thumbnail-sized ‘gnocchi’ pasta nubs, beans, tomato and hot pepper. L’Ustaria di Giùgaton, Pavia
Strawberry macedonia
A very typical Italian dessert is ‘macedonia’, mixed, cut-up fruit. This is fresh strawberries with shaved chocolate and mint flowers, prepared by Loredano. Milano
Russian salad with chicken
Russian salad – insalata russa – with a sort of pickled chicken – pollo in carbine. L’Ustaria di Giùgaton, Pavia
Farinata
Farina – Garbanzo bean flour batter which is spiked with olive oil and salt and baked in a very hot oven. Here served plain and with two different cheeses. Genova
Coffee creme brûlée with cinnamon gelato
Coffee creme brûlée with cinnamon gelato – Creme brulé al caffè con gelato alla canella. Triennale Design Museum. Milano
Marmalade and chocolate tarts
Marmalade and chocolate tarts – Trattoria da Pasquale. Parasacco (south of Milano)
Dolce con zabaglione
Dessert of crunchy, fried, sweet nuggets surrounded by a ‘zabaglione’ sauce. L’Ustaria di Giùgaton, Pavia
Foccacia di recco
Foccacia di recco – Stracchino cheese trapped in between two, super-thin layers of dough. Genova
Panna cotta with chocolate
Panna cotta with chocolate sauce. Genova
Fruit tart
Fruit tart. Milano
Pickled, fried fish
Pickled fish – Pesce sottaceto. Trattoria da Pasquale. Parasacco (south of Milano
Rabbit with geranium
Rabbit with geranium – Coniglio con geranio. Trattoria da Pasquale. Parasacco (south of Milano)
Fennel and ‘bottarga’
Fennel and shaved fish roe – finocchio con bottarga. Carlotta Cafè. Milano
Tuna with tomatoes and taggiasche olives
Tuna with tomatoes and olives – Tonno al’isolana. Carlotta Cafè. Milano
Baked orata with taggiasche olives
Baked orata with taggiasche olives – Orata al forno con olive taggiasche. Carlotta Cafè. Milano
Tagliolino pasta with shaved asparagus
Tagliolino pasta with shaved asparagus – Tagliolino alla vecchia Milano, ‘la version primaverile’. Triennale Design Museum. Milano
Lime pudding with mint sauce
Lime pudding with mint sauce – Morbida di lime con salsa alla menta. Triennale Design Museum. Milano
Hand-sewn, vintage linen is not enough to help stay cool close to midnight on what was a 95-degree day with high humidity, now the windows closed up tight to keep the mosquitoes out, and a pair of fans pointing straight at me. Choose: be kept awake by the “I’m gonna get you” high whine of the mosquito aloft on fresh air, or the “I’m so hot I’m sweating in the middle of the night” whine amidst the white noise of fans. Nearing midnight, and facing eight hours of pondering the question, I really wrestle with the choice. Cool air sounds so good right now, but I spent all last night battling the little buggers that sampled me from head-to-toe. I could open the windows at any time. But, once open, if even one mosquito’s gotten in, it’s all over for the night’s sleep.
Five days ago the weather decisively did the switcheroo. Following coolly/warmly pleasant, we had a downpour that would have drenched you in 30 seconds. The next day, we awoke to dry pavement, humid air and a change… Summer came like that! Poof. Bingo. No going back… or not until fall sometime.
I may very well open the windows, turn the fans on high to – theoretically – blow the mosquitoes away from my body, and take cover under a cotton sheet and hope for the best. No air conditioning in this student apartment!
Buona notte.
Update: 4:00 a.m.
I wasn’t actually sleeping. The mosquitoes had won. So I got up. I’ll take a siesta later today.
Early Sunday morning and I’ve opened up the house to the first warm breeze since I arrived two weeks ago. Perhaps it will take the stone chill away so a borrowed, heavy wool sweater is no longer needed inside while I’m working.
Both church bells and sirens are chiming. Always dogs barking and the sound of scooters. Though birds chatter, they’ve paused their reliable early morning song until later.
For the first time on this visit, I am wearing a skimpy top, skirt and sandals as I “take some sun” and write.
This place continues to hold me in a hundred ways. I have no answers regarding its place in my life, but know that every time I leave, a part of me stays behind which begs my return. There is still discovery and enchantment, though very different than when I arrived for the first time in 2008. The biggest difference I find is that being here now moves me in a deeper way. The visual rapture I swoon over will always be here. It’s the relationships, however, that get me on the plane.
Yesterday, while out walking around, I caught a glimpse of the woman that was my Fashion Design instructor in 2008. I ran ahead, called out her name and we stopped to chat, both surprised and pleased to see each other.
Imagine being in a large, international city, halfway around the world from home, and being recognized by and recognizing other people! One-by-one I have created a community for myself with whom I share a wave, a “ciao” and conversation. This is what continues to stir and tug me, prompting each return. This is the magic that makes me marvel.
“Affamata di Sapere” – “Hungry to Know”. That seemed like a meaty phrase around which to create a letterpress printing project. It was last year, in conversation with a friend here, that I had first heard that phrase and it leapt back off the pages of my notebook just two days ago. I knew I wanted to integrate that into a piece.
Last year here in Italy, I traveled with an international group through the Legacy of Letters tour. Part of the program was the group collaboration on a large printed piece that was both poster and booklet. Our creation was rendered under the mastery and guidance of artist/letterpress printer, Lucio Passerini, while at the Tipoteca Italiana Fondazione. At the end of the tour, when farewells were being said, Lucio invited me to collaborate with him on a printed project the next time I was in Milano… which is now.
Two days ago I wrote to him with that phrase and a loose list of words swirling in my head… and no solid concept of the form it would all take. Lucio wrote back and said it would be a “typographic jam session” on-press. I liked that. We’d “wing it” and see where the words took us.
Our collaboration started at 3:00 yesterday with the consideration of the words… weighing, comparing their meanings, similarities and differences. We honed, each adding to and deleting from the list. Then we started brainstorming about design, form and fonts, many times finding that our ideas were mirrored by the other. Those were fun moments.
Letterpress printing boils down to each individual letter being put into place one-at-a-time. We were working with woodtype from the early 1900s, from Lucio’s collection. We composed the words, fussed with the spacing, then surrounded everything by a hundred various, mathematically-calculated pieces of metal until the whole thing created an entire rectangle. It was all then clamped rigid onto the press base, ready to be inked and printed. Lucio’s been doing this for so many years and I enjoyed watching his process, seeing his thoughts made visible as he worked.
We printed for 5 hours, adjusting layout and color on-the-fly. “A touch of red” in the green. “A little taste” of white and blue in the dark gray, aiming for more sophisticated color admixtures. The spring green came off the press first, hung to begin drying, then we printed the word list in its dark gray.
Look at all of the individual pieces to create those three words. And many are so small you can’t see them here.
I hung up the printed proofs then we stood across the room to judge the letterspacing and then make adjustments by adding and removing pieces of wood and metal between each letter. (Our green ink started out much too “lime” for my taste so we made it more of my favorite spring, wasabi green.)
Forty printed sheets were hung from a rack suspended from the ceiling, waiting for the second impression.
Sometimes typos hide when reading things backwards. Do you see the error in the following photo?
We printed a tissue paper proof to determine the best position of the word list, overlaying the “affamata” phrase.
We both smiled when the first, final piece came off the press.
“Hungry to Know. Passion, curiosity, perseverance, vitality, appetite.”
When we finished, we joined Lucio’s dear wife at their home, for a celebratory toast, appetizers and a chat. It was a very good day. Grazie, Lucio!
Here are shots of part of Lucio’s studio/print shop. Note how the light changed between 3:00 and 8:00 p.m. (Click on each one to enlarge the photo.)
Mention a trip to the “Italian Riviera” and one envisions palm trees, beaches, hot sun and relaxation. In fact, Russia had a heat wave that forced the cold polar air south to Italy, so it was very mixed and generally chilly weather along the Ligurian Sea in Italy over the weekend.
When I was living here in Italy for an extended period (June 2009 – July 2010), I rented an apartment from Sandra, who lives in Sanremo. I met her in person 4 months after I had arrived in Milano, when I spoke limited Italian. But she, her husband, Mauro, daughter, Valeria, and I sat and chatted as best we could. At the end of our chat, she invited me to come visit them sometime.
I took the train to go see them in February 2010, after which Sandra said, “You always have a place here with us.” I’ve have now been there five times. A trip to see them has become a requisite “must-do” for me while in Italy.
The four-hour train ride takes us up and over the hills from Milano to the port city of Genova (what Americans call “Genoa”). At that station I had 15 minutes to transfer to the slow train to travel along the Ligurian Sea shoreline, stopping at a half dozen towns along the way until we arrived at Sanremo.
Just a stone’s throw from the border with France and Monaco, Sanremo is a destination for tourists enjoying the lovely setting and climate, the casino, and the yearly musical festival. There are street markets, beach umbrellas for rent, historic centers and gala events. Traffic is chaos and life is beautiful.
Milano had been having a crashing, pouring rain all night and all morning, and I had to walk to the subway station to then get to the train station. I hate having wet feet and imagined having my shoes drenched and cold for 4 hours on the train. So I tied plastic bags onto my feet. So very chic. So high-fashion. (Somehow they got damp anyway.)
It would be fine with me not to see McD’s in my life ever again so it pissed me off to see their ads plastered onto every turnstile at the Milano Centrale train station. Damn. Hate that.
I was standing at the train platform, looking up to the Genovese hills. (Click to enlarge.)
People watching while waiting for the train in Genova. (Click to enlarge.)
We encountered sunshine along the coast, close to Genova and Savona, but then it got grayer and cooler as we approached Sanremo. (Click to enlarge.)
Riding along the sea, so blue in the sunshine. (Click to enlarge.)
Sandra was making her wonderful Ligurian-specific “Sardenara”. It’s “not-quite-pizza”, with anchovies, Ligurian Taggiasche olives, tomato sauce and garlic. (Click to enlarge.)
Sandra, Mauro and Angelo stand on the deck of Angelo and Renata’s new house that’s near completion, right at the Ligurian shoreline. (Click to enlarge.)
Sanremo is known for the flowers it grows for Europe. These are some of the many greenhouses on the hills.
We spent some time watching the Giro d’Italia. The poor cyclists rode amidst snow fields and glaciers in the pouring rain.
In the Sanremo train station waiting to head home. Here’s the automated restroom, coin-operated and self cleaning. I think the whole stall hoses itself down after each use. (Click to enlarge.)
My train compartment fellow travelers for part of the ride from home. A cross-section of the world was represented here and we all enjoyed the varied chat. (Click to enlarge.)
These red-and-white striped chimneys were Dr. Seuss-like against the storm blue sky on the way home.
In this neighborhood, Saturday is market day. A string of city blocks nearby is blocked off and filled to the brim with produce, fish, cheese, flowers, housewares, clothing… and people. It seems to be when everyone does their big marketing for the week, going home and filling their tiny fridges and cupboards with Italian veggies, fruits and cheese, mediterranean fish, and cheap sundries.
When I was first living here in 2009, it took me a few times to figure out “the system” for buying from the vendors, and then overcome my timidity with my then more-limited Italian. I know the protocol now for waiting in line off to the side, but I still get mixed up over exactly how many green beans come in a kilo… quite a few! Requesting my food in metric amounts is still a guessing game for me.
Then there’s the foxy game the vendors play to upsell a little each time. I ask for 2, they put 3 in my bag. I ask for a half kilo, I go home with somewhere between half and a whole kilo, even though they weigh each order.
And I have yet to find a produce vendor that handles the goods with a gentle touch. It matters with tomatoes, apricots, nespole, plums, figs and others! They use the open produce bag for target practice, flinging each tender fruit toward the bag’s gaping entrance. (Sometimes I’ll observe a vendor for a while and decide not to buy from one that throws the fruit around. It doesn’t leave me many options though.) By the time I walk home with my day’s purchases, I’ve got spoilage already.
All that said, the array not only offers edible delights but a visual one as well. I enjoyed shooting panoramas today to give a sense of the surroundings (those these don’t show the throng of people, nor the clothes and sundries.)
(Click on the photos to see them enlarged.)
Lovely fruits and vegetables.
All sorts of seafood, much of which I’d never seen until I came here.
Olives, canned tuna, pickled foods.
Produce galore.
Breads and rolls.
We need more olives.
Yet more produce.
Olives, pickles foods, dried fruits.
Nuts and olives.
Salted cod, olives, dried foods and others.
More produce, lots of greens.
Many different cheeses and meats.
A meat and cheese vendor.
Today I brought home erbette, rucola, lattuga, fagiolini, pomodori, olive, cipolle, cima di rapa. (leafy greens, arugula, bibb lettuce, green beans, tomatoes, olives, pickled onions, broccoli tops.)
