"No, only a good life in Italy."

Such a perfect early evening in Milan - cool and on the cusp of rain. Stefano and I had planned to meet at the center of town and then head home from work together. We were coming from opposite directions down the same street and when Stefano came into sight, on the opposite side of the road, he had a bouquet in his hand. It was a burst of color on the street, bright as fireworks at midnight, and it was for me.

He handed me the bouquet and I sniffed the flowers. And sneezed. I remember because we were in front of the little vintage shop that I love and Stefano laughed at my sneezing. Then we kept walking until we got to our favorite gelato shop where, of course, we stopped in because that's just what you do in Italy.

In one hand I had a cone topped with a smudge each of chocolate orange and pistacchio. In the other I had a surprise bouquet. The woman who owns the gelato shop who had just handed me my cone looked over the bouquet and asked if today was my birthday. My answer?

"No, solamente una vita bella in Italia."

what weekends are for

On Saturday morning after a reasonably comfortable one-hour train ride we found ourselves in Stresa, a town on Lago Maggiore. Lago Maggiore is a large lake to the west of Lago Como and one of its best features is the presence of several stunning islands.

The lake is framed by snow capped mountains and towns peppered with villas and stoic hotels. It's amazingly beautiful from the shore, looking out on the lake, and equally so when you're on the islands looking back at the shore. The entire area is one luxurious view after another, peppered with ice cream, pizza, and flowers. And don't forget the peacocks.

We were also fortunate in that the weather could not have been any more picture perfect. The sun was in the sky, the sky was blue, and the water danced and chopped as we rode the ferry from one island to another. And the air was fresh -- such a treat to take in great gulps of pure air. We definitely were away from the city.



Stresa is on the Golfo Borromeo of Lago Maggiore and facing it are three Islands of the Borromeo Family. This rich and powerful Italian family took control of the islands in the 16th century and turned them into private palaces and gardens. Today you can tour the villas and gardens and enjoy the miniature towns that have sprung up around them.

We began on Isola Bella and visited its Palazzo Borromeo. The palazzo was bright and dramatic with gigantic sweeping rooms that looked out on the lake and the mountains around it. It's a surreal and luxurious worldview ... gazing from the villa onto private gardens flooded with flowers and then onto the backdrop of both the lake waters and the mountains.



The gardens were very formal - terraced and grotto-ed with statues, ponds and peacocks punctuating every view. There were tropical trees, flowers of every variety, citrus trees heavy with lemons, oranges, grapefruits... And white peacocks strutting through every scene.



The second island was a shorter visit and a perfect lunch break. We landed on Isola dei Pescatori, Island of the Fishermen, and found a shady spot along the shore to eat gigantic slices of wood oven pizza. The pizza was good and the view was excellent.

We ended our day on Isola Madre. This island is comprised solely of the Borromeo family villa and garden. However, this villa was darker and more mysterious and the gardens less controlled and more free for exploration than those on Isola Bella. Throughout the villa hung heavy oil portraits of family ancestors and there were several rooms devoted to marionettes, with one hosting a downright creepy marionette theater that actually figured in Stefano's dreams the night after.



The garden was peppered with different personalities ... mossy shady areas, sunny plains, drooping trees with soft lazy arms sweeping the lawn. There were lanes of flower trees and peacocks chasing each other among the flora. And if you sit still long enough a few peacocks may sneak up behind you and get close enough to send you scurrying. This island is the less restrained cousin of Isola Bella and the perfect place to watch petals drift from trees and the French ignore the rules.

Whatever people may tell you of Como, do not forget Maggiore. It is beautiful, relaxing, and a reminder of what our eyes should see more of in this busy life: flowers, lakes, the ones we love, and mountains crawling into the sky behind them.

fiori for all

Monday was a holiday in Italy and most shops were closed. And while it rained most of the morning into early afternoon we noticed an unusually large number of people roaming the streets with plants and flowers. We traced the vegetation to a nearby piazza that was filled with vendors of flowers, plants, small trees & animals.



The piazza was full of color and sound as people explored what there was on offer among the puddles. Kudos to the stiletto-wearing women who managed to navigate the cobblestones and also the puddles. Though I imagine that shopping for plants on cobblestones is nothing compared to riding a bicycle in the same shoes and a skirt. It's all relative I suppose.

The plants on offer were gorgeous and varied. The most interesting for me were the lemon trees -- who would think that lemon trees are available as home accessories? With real lemons! We came home with a few plants for the balcony and will do our best to keep them alive. We made sure to ask the vendors whether the different plants preferred sun or shade... and I think we understood the answers. I am confident, though, that we will still be able to do harm to the plants regardless of our best intentions.



There were also quite a few small pets available for impulse buying. Gorgeous birds, some sulking turtles, hamsters, guinea pigs and the like. The most unique option was a pile of chipmunks that seemed better suited for the forest than a small Italian apartment. Maybe it's every Italian chipmunks dream to spend lazy days lounging in a cage no longer stressed out about gathering whatever it is they eat... but I doubt it.

putting the -ina in cassata

Whenever Stefano and I are shopping around the Duomo - or just tooling past on our way to the Camper store - we stop in at a cramped café with Sicilian specialties. They have piles of amazing sweets and pastries, one sweeter than the next, and a single tall table to perch at once you've decided.

The sweetest sweet - and the one we order regularly - is the cassatina. A cassatina is a pretty little bite of a cake compared to its full-sized mother, the cassata. (In Italian adding "ina" to the end of a word creates a diminutive; thus a small cassata is a cassatina.) We've found the smaller-sized version to be perfect for sharing and a wonderful accessory to a strong Italian coffee.



These cakes are originally from Sicily which is known for over-the-top sweets and splurge-worthy edibles. From what I can tell by taste and internet research the cassata is made from sweetened ricotta cheese, sugar, candied fruit, tiny chocolate chunks, green almond paste, cake and Maraschino liqueur.



The inside has the texture of slowly melting frosting and is surrounded by a very light wall of cake. It tastes of maraschino cherries and vanilla and occasionally you run into a chocolate bump. The outside is a ring of marzipan almond paste that manages to lasso the whole concoction together. The large cakes are decorated with candied fruit and peel and the smaller variety are given a single maraschino cherry.

I have to admit that my original reason for ordering a cassatina was the fact that it was green. I appreciate the idea of a green cake especially one that is packed with enough sugar to give a tired shopper the jolt they need.

I'm trying to think of green colored pastries found in the states and all that comes to mind are those corn flake wreaths at Christmas. Oh and scary jello abominations from decades past where broccoli and carrots hover in a quivering mass of clear gelatin -- or worse, orange.

Score one for Italy.

ghost town

Milan has quickly become a ghost town. It's Easter weekend and families have left the city to congregate in other places. All that Milan has left are the tourists, Stefano & I, and the giant eggs that have been strewn high above the streets. There's a smidge of joy that comes from living in a city that strings easter egg garland from one building to another.

They went up a couple of weeks ago and are, dare I say, cute. I also appreciate the contrast between the high-minded design coming out of the galleries and the very simple egg shapes hanging above them. Sometimes all you need is an oval to make a lot of people smile.



Those of us left to celebrate in Milan have taken comfort in the presence of traditional Italian easter treats. Sure, there are large edible bunnies to be purchased. And mounds of marzipan fruit.



But there is also the Colomba, a tall bread/cake shaped like a dove. It is egg-y and sweet, and studded with candied orange. There is also a hint of almond in the crunchy top layer and in the almonds that congregate there. The white pellets (for lack of a more eating-friendly term) are crunchy little sugar tubes. You can find them on top of croissants and other baked goods as well.

The Colomba is not a healthy cake; not even remotely. But it is delicious and soft and certainly a holiday tradition -- we're going to stick with that as the reason why we've eaten almost an entire colomba in less than two days.



This colomba was a gift from our portanaio. In Italy, a portanaio is the person who takes care of your apartment building. He is both the keeper of the building and your neighbor and in both of these capacities our portanaio is excellent. Originally from Sri Lanka, he lives downstairs with his wife and daughter. I should add that their apartment has some of the best dinner smells wafting out of it in all of the building.

I think our portanaio gave us this colomba because when we were having a conversation out by the small lemon tree behind our building I told him that I really like cake. (It made sense at the time.)

So the next time we saw him, he and his wife handed us this colomba. And it is good. Very good. Good in a breakfast way... good in a lunch way... and well, you can guess how it fits in after dinner.



I fear this colomba won't last the night.

design city

Italy is many things to many people but I think we can safely make a few sweeping generalizations. Roma is the epicenter of history. Firenze, the locus of art. And Milano... Milano is most certainly the anchor of modern design.

High-end design today might mean a $68,000 dining room table with a soft sheet of rubber along its top that soaks up the light in the room. Or a marble tub undulating like a wave, perfectly mirroring the reclining body within it. We don't happen to be in the market for such things but this weekend Milan's most chic and terribly haught design studios were open to anyone and everyone who wandered by.



As I have mentioned before, Milan is architecturally very much about hidden secrets. There are doors fit for giants behind which hide incredible gardens and cobble stones but these doors are closed more often than not and it is rare to be welcomed into such private coves. But with the opening of the galleries and shops it was an invitation into secret lairs.

The galleries were open in conjunction with a very prominent and important design conference being held on the outskirts of Milan. There was a guidebook available that detailed participating locations and freestanding banners in front of each to indicate you were welcome inside. It was wonderful and we went into as many as we could find. Often we were rewarded with cocktails and something petite and glam to eat. And the far greater reward was the access to the back gardens and showrooms that normally we would not frequent.

Sipping prosecco in the courtyard behind a linens gallery, noticing the peeling paint and ivy on the small cottages edging the space, and shifting from one cobble stone to the next... not bad for a night's find.



Another favorite was "Established & Sons," a very smart English firm that is making waves in the design world. Their showroom is in a cavernous space that was previously a jai-alai court. Where once people played a rather unique sport there reside now some unquestionably unique pieces of furniture. Behind the furniture and accessories, along the entire back wall, were perfectly chosen quotes that made you feel smart and charming because you recognized their wit; and the complementary beer didn't hurt either.



In the foreground of the above photo are desks. Yes, desks. Look at these beautes. While I would not look forward to spending 8+ hours a day headquartered at one of these, I will say they look darn fresh. Maybe you've seen a desk like this before? Or been to a jai-alai court in the center of Milan that you would never in a million years have guessed existed based on what you could see from the outside? Kudos to you if you have because I was happily suprised by both.



But the real award for "embracing the opportunity presented" goes to the young art school hipsters who took to the opening of these galleries in swarms. They drank the free beer. They sat on the furniture. And they reminded me of the people who break the rules and create the designs that make nights like this possible.

egypt in italy

Rainy days are meant for museums and so we found our way to the depths of the Museo Egizio -- the Egyptian Museum of Turin. This museum is said to be second only to Cairo in its collection of Egyptian artifacts and covers 5,000 years of history. It is an absolutely overwhelming collection if a little underwhelming at times in its presentation. When it comes down to it, I suppose when you've got something 5,000 years old sitting in front of you it's pretty mind-blowing no matter what sort of signage is (or is not) there to explain it.



As a result I have come away with an appreciation for the pieces within the museum if not a thorough understanding of what they all mean. I will say that when we walked into the first gallery of statuary both Stefano and I were shocked by the depth of the collection. There are so many pieces and they are in such good condition it really is difficult to believe that they are as old as they are. In one of the first rooms of the musuem one of the signs explained that items in Egypt were remarkably well-preserved because of the dry condition of the territory.

(Note photo of open window on rainy day in statuary gallery. Maybe by "dry" they really mean "not under the ocean and so a little direct moisture now and again won't hurt anything." Ever been to a relics museum with an open window before? Nope, me neither.)



Neither of us had never seen hieroglyphics as crisp and sharp as those in the museum-- nor painted elements whose tint was as vibrant. There are also mummies, intact tombs and funerary articles that are in astonishingly pristene condition. Photos from the actual excavations give you a sense of how one goes about "finding" the tomb of a pharaoh in the middle of the Egyptian desert and exactly what it looks like when you find it. While still a mystery to me, at least I have a small mental picture of where these pieces lay in wait for so many thousands of years.



There were, however, two things at the museum of which I was not a fan. Left hands. And right hands. People were touching everything. Literally laying both hands on these pieces of history and dragging their fingers along the hieroglyphics. And not just kids. Full-age adults were actually setting their cameras on tombs so that they could take steady photos without using a flash.



There were no security guards to be found. Let me just say that in the States I was once reprimanded for blowing in the direction of a contemporary art piece that was obviously made to respond to wind currents. And this was contemporary art made in current times by a questionably talented artist. Not the keys to Ancient Egypt in the second most important Egyptian museum in the world. The only time I saw a parent remove her child's grubby hands from a statue was after I took a photo of him touching it.

What was I saying about Italy being a place totally it's own...

not just the cioccolato

After gallavanting through the chocolate fest (see previous post) we were left to enjoy the rest of Torino on a gentle yet persistent cocoa high.

One of Stefano's must see destinations was the Santuario della Consolata. Designed in 1678 it's a church set on the Piazza Consolata. The interior overflows with aesthetic accessories in marble and gold but it still manages to be intimate and quiet. One of the more intriguing elements of the church is near the entrance to the Sacresty. There are two areas whose walls are covered, literally, by framed sketchings and drawings of incidents in which people were saved from harm by holy intervention.



The scenes are refreshingly amateur, many watercolor or seemingly crayon, and depict the moment in which the subject was not killed by the streetcar, having fallen off of his bike just inches away. Or the small child dropped from a balcony who miraculously survived. There are soldiers coming home from war, received by a family with open arms and hospital patients surrounded by doctors after a successful operation. In every frame is a unique story and the frames reach high to the celestial ceiling. The one element the pieces have in common is a "G.R." in the bottom corner -- "Grazia Ricevuto" or "Grace Received."



Across the Piazza Consolata is the Al Bicerin cafe. This small cafe opened in 1763 and is famous for one thing - the "Bicerin," a hot drink made with espresso, cream and chocolate. It is most definitely not hot chocolate. To call it hot chocolate would be a disservice. This drink is more akin to a melted brownie with a layer of cream hovering on top. It is rich and decadent and guilt-inducing. And perfect for a rainy afternoon - which is what ours became as we crossed the Piazza.



We sat at a small table in the corner, with a serpentine flame swaying between us, and shared the glass. The cream sat on the top waiting for us to mix it in - and when we did spoon it into the chocolate below it gently gave way, folding into the heavy mixture.

There is something to be said for raindrops on the piazza and a corner in a warm cafe. And truly, for Italy in general. This place is magical and delicious and energizing. It is different and random and frustrating. It is not the United States. It is not what you see in old movies. It is the Italy that forms after a month of moments, after sidewalk scenarios and park bench vignettes. And every day we have, every drink we share, is a chance to stop and feel lucky.



And we do.

torino for two

For Stefano and myself Torino used to mean "site of the Olympics." But after this weekend it means something else. Something quite unexpected and terribly too good. We were certainly very impressed by the Egyptian museum (see later post). And we were very happy with the aesthetics of the city and intrigued by its people. But what caught our attention first, and was the result of serendipitous good timing alone, was "La Grande Festa Del Cioccolato" - the Chocolate Festival. Chocolate, my friends. An entire piazza filled with the stuff.



Piazza San Carlo was framed with tented exhibitions by various producers and purveyors of "cioccolato" -- pronounced "choc-oh-lott-oh" and seemingly embraced by the Italians with even more vigor than Americans. The clincher was that each exhibitor offered samples of just about everything they had on display - the most requested taste seemed to be from the jars of soft chocolate. Think Nutella but gourmet. Everyone was walking around nursing a miniature spoon recently dunked into the stuff. And not to be outdone, Nutella had it's own booth and was selling Nutella milkshakes, crepes and more. But that's the simple stuff.

The chocolate purveyors were very creative in their combinations and that's where things got interesting. Think of a flavor... Let's try curry. Were there any curry chocolate bars at the Torino Chocolate Festival? Why yes, there were. Licorice? Don't be silly - of course.



Shall we ratchet up the oddball factor... something more difficult... smoked chocolate? "Cioccolato affumicato?" Had it. And while I wouldn't say it's required eating it was very worth the taste. With a smoky flavor wisping through, it's the only time I've eaten chocolate and felt very masculine in the process-- like a lumberjack who'd wandered into Godiva.

Winner of best in show for "new ways of thinking about an old favorite," for us, was salted dark chocolate. Weird and wonderful it's chocolate with a salty wave rushing through it - not sharp, but smooth and surprising. We brought home a bar and have already cracked in for a square or two.



Of course there were perfect candied orange wheels dipped in dark chocolate. And the traditional candy of Torino - the elongated triangular log called the "giandujotto" which is way too easy to eat. Creamy, soft and often tinged with hazelnut - it's a bite and a half of decadence wrapped in metallic paper. Sheets of chocolate with candied ginger, halved figs or curled walnuts laying along the top. Whatever chocolate you may have tasted once in a boutique years ago, or dream about in a world veined with chocolate rivers... was there.



So while we may not have seen the Alps, we did see a Harry Potter chocolate Easter egg the size of a pregnant sow. Thank you Torino. And not just for the chocolate - thank you for giving the Italians a reason to stop smoking for two seconds. Cause otherwise they couldn't come in the tent for chocolate. It's the little things, really.