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.)