Mi dispiace per questo pausa lunga...

Poverino blog! I haven't posted anything in a while, though I've had much to post. So I'll start as far back as I can remember, and maybe I won't write everything I want to tonight...

A few weeks ago, our host family took Dalia/Dallas and me to eat schiacciata up in the hills at a place renowned for it. Schiacciata is a type of bread typical to Tuscany... it is flat and salty, usually baked in a large pancake-shaped loaf. Tuscans eat it as a sandwich with mortadello or prosciutto and cheese, or as a dessert with grapes baked into it. At a bar you can select a giant (loaf-sized) pre-made schiacciata and have a human-sized piece cut off for you.

This was a Sunday night and we ate outside at picnic tables, surrounded by a tough-looking older couple, a man with his dog (too close for my personal comfort), and a huge group of teenagers. This place is so popular that you have to call ahead. While Nonna waited in line for ours, we took a walk with Babbo around the area, and saw the house he lived in as a child.

I don't think this is it, but I liked their plants. In general I like the domestic Italian gardens I've seen so far-- like this one, they have many small pots, usually filled with greenery or succulents. Italians grow hydrangeas in pots. I don't know why. Windowboxes are also popular, and when there is an apartment building with many levels and balconies, almost every balcony has planted windowboxes overflowing. On the side of the road when we walk to the bus, there are giant bushes of rosemary, lavender, and lemon verbena.











Speaking of the bus... we spend a lot of time there. Everything depends on when you go. In rush hour, it can take an hour... during the lunch hour, it takes 35 minutes. Without fail, bus time is entertaining, even though it is often uncomfortable as well. Too hot, too close, too much b.o., bad driving, having to stand for an hour. Yet as a foreigner, I enjoy observing the Italians on the bus. Yes, they are mostly all well-dressed, from the teenagers going to school to the older women in non-orthopedic shoes.


Usually we walk to and from the bus stop, but one day we encountered Babbo in his motorino and he brought us home. Apparently most Italians receive a motorino on their 14th birthday. They are a popular approach to the narrow, winding Tuscan streets and heavy traffic-- the motorini scoot around cars, zoom past buses, and easily find parking by the side of the road.












So. Now the story of our viaggio alla spiaggia. A week ago four girls decided to travel to Cinque Terre to swim. It was a learning experience.
This is the chic seaside town of Portovenere. It is not, in fact, one of the Cinque Terre (five tiny towns), but is nearby and worth seeing, according to Nonna. Our experience in Portovenere was regretfully short-- "It was Ciao and Ciao," as Dalia said. We expected to find a room in a quaint inn or bed and breakfast, of which we were told there would be many, with many rooms available, it being September, not the rush-season of August. Yet there is apparently a September off-season backlash, and there are only 4 inns in Portovenere, and they were all full.

In the next segment, I'll discuss the other 48 hours of the viaggio, plus many other intriguing tidbits of personal experience.

A presto (speriamo.)

The photos in the below posts are from a walk near the area of our house in Antella.

Wow! (Italians use this word too because there isn't really an equivalent Italian expression.) I have been here in Florence for one week exactly. I feel like it's been forever...In my mind, it's been at least a month.

Each day my world here expands a little bit, I learn a little more, try something new, and explore a different place. It's almost impossible to describe my experience. I think my favorite parts so far have been the conversations with random Italians on the bus or in stores or on the street, when I feel happily surprised that they understand me (even when we are speaking in the simplest terms.) Italians that I have turned to for help have been extremely polite.

We get to do a lot of people-watching on our bus rides-- about 30 minutes each way from Antella to Florence. And eavesdropping... although I can't always capeesh what's being said, I'm still crazy about it all being Italian. Last summer I heard Italian spoken a few times in a crowd and I tried so hard to understand...Like Elizabeth Gilbert says in Eat, Pray, Love, Italy seems like an unimaginable paradise for those who love to hear Italian.

Every day really is full of ups and downs, as all travellers' days are, I suppose. There are challenges everywhere, and unexpected loveliness everywhere as well.

And of course one of my favorite parts of the day is trying new Italian food that my host mom, who I will call Nonna because that really is who she is, a wonderful Nonna, prepares. Tonight we ate panzanella: it's a summer salad with tomatoes, cucumbers, bread, basil, and vinegar. Nonna told me that you should never cut basil with a knife because it changes the flavor-- instead she rips it up with her fingers. For secondi piatti we had salad and calimari alla Romana (fried.) Che buoni! And after dinner, we tasted preserved cherries (ciligie) grown in the garden behind the house. Nonna e Babbo put them in a big jar with sugar and let them sit in the sun (they couldn't agree... was it for 10 days or a few months?) They taste amazing. After sitting in the sun, they shrink down to the size of chickpeas and most of the liquid leaves them.

More later.... ciao!

Benvenuti alle colline toscane

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

Benvenuta alle Colline Toscane

 
 
 
 

Today our high-speedy wireless internet system is mysteriously not working, so I will post this when it comes back. Having wireless internet at home really minimizes the sense of being in a foreign country and of separation from home. I’ve been checking facebook, using my e-mail, and reading nyt.com (mostly election-related articles) just like I do at home and at Middlebury. On the way to Newark airport I saw a few American flags waving and mentally bid them good-bye, feeling a sense of quasi-guilt for leaving my country in its time of crisis and choice. But I’m still going to vote and I’m determined to stay informed, via internet or otherwise. Both of my Alitalia flights offered free newspapers before boarding; both curious and hoping to seem like a true Italian, I took one for each flight. On my 35-minute connection from Rome to Florence, I read a truly comical article in La Repubblica, an Italian national newspaper, shocking me with the revelation that Sarah Palin’s 17-year-old is pregnant. The article had a distinctly irreverent, Italian take on the matter. It asserted that Palin got what she deserved for trotting out her family into the public eye to improve her own image, and most memorably, it ridiculed her for the names of her children: “No Christian names for this extremely Christian family.” Apparently, Track was conceived at a running track, “it would be interesting to know how,” the article said. When the internet is back I’ll try to get a link up. Eccola: http://www.repubblica.it/2008/08/sezioni/esteri/verso-elezioni-usa/figlia-palin/figlia-palin.html?ref=search. Sorry that my tecno-skills don't allow me to cleverly incode it into a word like this. Comunque, maybe one day. Actually, I just read the article at that link and it doesn't seem like the same article to me. O via.

For lunch today we had tripe. Host mom offered it to me along with giving me a cheeseburger (without buns) as an insurance policy of sorts because few Americans apparently like tripe. It looked like octopus to me, or squid, and I love seafood, so I went for it. Really, with the sauce and a bit of fresh-grated parmesan, it could have been anything—host mom prepares all of her food with sauces and intense flavors. About half-way through I asked what animal it comes from. “Manza,” host dad said. “Cow.” Really? I put my fork down and started on the hamburger. I’m kind of glad the internet is down—I think I need to finish digesting before I discover what tripe truly is.

Dallas and I now are off to explore the local mall!

Arrivata a Firenze!

I am here in Florence! Actually, the house I live in is a bit outside of the city, in a town called Antella. The past few days have been slow and lovely: unpacking, resting, seeing Antella and Florence (only by car so far), and getting to know my host parents, their granddaughter, and their grey cat, Candy.
Today Dalia and I took three walks (passeggiate). The first was short, a 30-minute circle around the neighborhood where we live. The second, a bit longer: we walked down the long hill into the town center of Antella to see an open-air market. And then, after lunch, we thought we had room for one more. We left around 5pm and walked on and on through the gorgeous hills and narrow streets that fell out before us. Finally, we arrived at what we thought was the end of the map our host mom had drawn for us. We continued, thinking that the route would circle around, but eventually we asked a kind passerby: man, wife, and dog, how we could return to Antella from here. He was somewhat shocked. "Antella? No, no!" He said. "Should we turn around and go back?" I asked in Italian, pointing the direction from which we'd come. "No," he said again emphatically, incredulous. Apparently we'd already arrived at the next town, Grassino. He told us to take the bus, pointing in the direction of Grassino. "Walking, walking. Walking." We continued in the same direction, ever onward to Grassino. It occurred to me that Dalia and I certainly know more Italian than this man knew of English-- it would have been much easier for us to communicate if he had simply spoken Italian. A bit ironic! In any case, we arrived at Grassino in a few moments and called our host family from il mio telefonino, which worked, grazie Dio! He kindly drove to pick us up and showed us where we'd gone wrong (quite early in the walk, it turned out.)
I saw some beautiful views on the final walk, but I haven't uploaded those pictures to my computer yet, so they will appear in my very next post.

Finalmente: Il Cibo
I am so excited about the food... So I will record the meals that I can remember so far. My host mother, is of course a fabulous cook who prepares multi-course meals for lunch and dinner. Today, at lunch we ate coniglio (rabbit) and magnificent farfalle pasta.
Yesterday, dinner was a beautiful risotto followed by broccoli with tomatoes and fried mozzarella and ham sandwiches (they have a special Italian name that I forgot.)
On my first day here, we had a delicious lunch of tomatoes with a bit of mozzarella and basil, followed by roasted chicken and arugula salad. For dinner, una torta (eggs cooked with linguini), a type of fried meat (I'm embarrassed to admit, I was too tired and too unable to understand Italian at that point to ask what it actually was), and something else I've forgotten too. Darn. I'll add it in when I remember. There was an intriguing Tuscan grape dessert (difficult to describe...)
After each meal we eat fresh fruit, some of it picked from the garden of fruit trees: fresh red and white figs and apples, along with nectarines and yellow plums (susine) and darker plums (prugni.)
Not to mention breakfast: the most delicious yogurt, with cereal and toast with my host babbo's marmalata (di arancie-- oranges and di susine.)

Allora. I see that the moon has risen, as I sit here in front of my window, and we have not yet eaten dinner. It will probably happen soon. So I must leave. Below are a few of my photos from the first two passeggiate today.

Ciao, a presto!









The view from the window in my room

Another view from my window

Just a hole in the wall.

La Dalia: