29 May 2006

our spokesperson



I would like to thank this woman for briefly and succinctly, in one quick contortion on the beachway, expressing just how we felt after completing our hike through the Cinque Terre. I would also like to thank her for not caring one bit about how she looks, or what people might think, because hot-damn! when her feet hurt, she's going to elevate them right quick. Good for you my hiking friend. Good for you.

28 May 2006

Cinque Terre, part 4



After lunch, on the way to Vernazza the hike entered the realm of what one might term "challenging." The paths became steeper, thinner, rockier, less protected. We began to wander past grape vines and lemon trees. Bushes full of wild flowers and vines. It was no longer along the coast exactly, but rather wandering through the areas a little further inland. It was still quaint but now becoming more of a workout. By this point we had definitely lost all hints of tour groups and were no longer being held up by anyone's pace but our own which had gotten slower and less springy. Despite the sweat in our eyes, you could still tell this was a beautiful expanse of space. But not one you'd want to be visiting in August.



When we emerged from the trail, we immediately headed to the Vernazza harbor to take a breath and take in the sights. The beach here was sandy rather than rocky and was a lot more crowded than the other, smaller towns. People were swimming and boating and swimming from boats. But we had one more town to reach before we could stop for the day so we grabbed a gelato and got back on the trail.

Should anyone be wondering, gelato is only a momentary band-aid for exhaustion and for all the magic it holds, still does not make a straight-up set of rock stairs any easier. Especially when one of your hands is busy holding the cone.

Our fifth town, Monterosso al Mare was by far the largest and most packed with tourists. It was nice but not quite quaint and the path to reach it was the most difficult yet - but also the most mysterious. You walk along very thin trails, overhanging ravines and streams and passing farmers working in their terraced fields.



We encountered more than a few people heading up the trail as we headed down and they were not happy individuals. For as difficult as it was for us, it must have been doubly difficult for them. Most of this part of the trail was a steep decline from our direction -- which is difficult to control when your legs are fatigued and ankles starting to wobble. But coming up that path in flip-flops might just be worse.



A mother and daughter, Americans both clad in flimsy sandals and wearing their cutest summer ensembles, passed us on their way up the trail. The mother said, "I don't think I can take much more of this," to which the daughter responded, "There can't be that much more to go." Au contraire my dears. There was a lot further to go. And I only know that because I'd just traversed it. But who was I to tell these seasoned explorers that their best bet would be to turn back now and dive face first into a tub of gelato? Where would their mother-daughter bonding be without a few trials and tribulations?



So instead of bursting their bubble we kept moving forward. Past all of the sights that made this trail one of the most beautiful I've ever seen. Aside from the brief-but-still-too-long moment when a rather large fellow in short tights ran past us going down the trail.

Just when you think you've found the most beautiful place on earth, there's always a man running by in short tights to prove you wrong.

(Eating in) Cinque Terre, part 3



Corniglia is the third town on the trail and features not only fabulous lunch but also nude sunbathing. We partook of the former but not the latter, managing only to view it from high above which obscured any interesting details.



We were lucky enough to pull into Cantina de Mananan just minutes before what can only be termed a lunchtime rush. Based on the languages singing through the dining room, Mananan seems popular with the French and Italians and many had already made reservations for one of the restaurant's eleven tables. As other travelers were turned away we felt very lucky to be sitting there, amidst rock-walls, under a timber-ceiling, in a small osteria with thick hunks of fresh bread and mineral water before us.



The menu was scrawled in multi-color chalk on a giant board nearly filling one of the restaurant's four walls and there were so many delicious local specialties to choose from that we could have closed our eyes, pointed randomly, and still been ecstatic at what we were served.

For an appetizer we ordered anchovies (accuighe) which are a local specialty. They were incredible, both in diversity of flavors and also in opening the mind as to what anchovies really are. In the US one rarely runs into an anchovy that hasn't been sadly laid upon a pizza, or blended out of its misery into caesar salad dressing. But here, along the sea from which these small fish actually are drawn, the anchovy is an art form.



There was the smoked version, along with a smattering of smoked chickpeas. And then a lighter option with only lemon and olive oil, accompanied with fresh capers. There was another that was salted and accompanied by a crisp garlic flavor and paired with tiny olives, and a reddened chili version that was salted and spicy. And then there was the anchovy Americans are familiar with - salty and strong. Each styling had its own unique flavor and together they were a refreshing schooling in what can be done with the anchovy, going well beyond what you would expect.



Our main course was fresh spaghetti with fruit of the sea. It was a heaping plate of soft, fresh pasta sitting in a delicious light broth and topped with an avalanche of fresh seafood. Mussels, clams, small shrimp, giant shrimp, other delicious things in shells.... We managed to extract every bit of seafood goodness from what we were given and even found ourselves dredging chunks of bread through the remaining broth.

I would say that next time reservations are in order.

Cinque Terre, part 2



We started out on our hike and quickly realized that this would not be a quick romp along the coast. This section of the path is wide and paved and very accommodating. Therefore, this is the part of the path that everyone walks -- people with children dawdling along, unwieldy tour groups following an amplified guide who holds a flag tied to an umbrella high in the air so as to be found and followed in a crowd, older couples going at a clip that may well be fast for them but not quite as fast as others... Basically everyone is out there, and everyone is loving it.

This part of the path is more of a Sunday stroll than a hike and with the scenery that surrounds you, it's a welcome suggestion to slow down and take it in. You walk high above the sea and are privy to coastal views all the way to the next village. The sea below races along the shore kicking up frothy waves, sailboats flit along the route, and wildflowers and lizards scale the rocky coast. It is nothing less than breath-taking.



Manarola was our second town and the one we plan to return to first. It was small and colorful and had the best swimming along the trail. It's beach was rocky and aquamarine and had coves and crags and all of the niches that make swimming interesting. We skipped the swimming this time due to time concerns -- and apparently it was very cold as well. An Italian mother showing her small child the beach from where we were standing kept saying it was freezing cold and only the Germans were going in the water -- which I doubt was a compelling argument from the child's point of view for staying out of the fun-looking water.

The food was also great in this town. We stopped at a small walk-up foccaciaria where there was an embarrassment of food riches on display. We weren't ready for lunch but we could hardly pass up a chunk of foccacia with pesto, a local specialty, heaped on. It was wonderful and demure pesto -- with the basil's flavors left dancing, rather than smothered in garlic. We shared it on a bench outside of the shop, among the boats that lay there waiting to be used.



We were sorry to leave Manarola and get back on the trail but it was only the second of five towns we were to visit that day. And so off we went. Again, the trail was gentle and well-populated. And the views were incredible.



There is a certain unique challenge to this sort of travel, this kind of trail. It's the danger of becoming numb to the splendor of the views, to take for granted the sea scent flirting in the air, to stop being amazed at the golden pops of cactus flowers along the way. It's true, the first views you take of this area give you pause - you struggle to see it as a whole, to catalogue and comprehend the view, and feel so lucky for being there at that moment. And in fact, to be alive. But then you move on and you see another beautiful town - the kind you've only seen on postcards before - and you think how pretty it is. And the next town is pretty too. And then the next one... I don't have an answer for the challenge of staying "in awe" but I guess when the problem is seeing too many beautiful things at once, it's one of the best problems to have.

Cinque Terre, part 1



If you're a PBS-loving American, a reader of Rick Steves' ebullient travel guides, or a recent college graduate, we can safely assume you've acquired a pretty clear idea of Italy's Cinque Terre (Five Lands). For those not yet briefed, Cingue Terre is a far-flung national park on the Italian Riviera, which crests the Ligurian Sea. It's composed of five rainbow-colored coastal towns and connected by a stunning and sometimes challenging hiking path.

This area is best accessed by train and is slightly off the beaten bath - but not by much. Please do not imagine a secret lair or a mysterious journey. This place is no secret and it is filled with people speaking heaps of English; but there's a reason for the crowds. It's simply too beautiful to be kept a secret. And besides, Rick Steves couldn't keep a travel secret if he tried.

Our Cinque Terre experience began at the painful hour of 4:30am and included a 14 euro cab ride. Ouch! But we were at the train station by 5:45am and sitting on our 6:10am train well before it raced off into the Milano dawn. The 3 hour train ride is a bit of a blur, there seemed to be some beautiful views and also a large amount of napping by everyone on board.

When we arrived at out first stop we had to wait for one of the slower local "milk-run" trains that drop passengers at each of the five villages of the Cinque Terre. We'd heard that these trains are always at least 10 minutes late and ours did not disappoint. I have yet to figure out if the Italians find this casual attitude towards time & schedules to be normal, quaint, or aggravating. In the end, though, the train comes and you get on. Just forget about looking at your watch as a gauge of when it will arrive.



We rode the train to the farthest out of the towns, with the intention of walking back through the other four with the sun at our back. It was a good plan although the trails increased in difficulty as we moved forward. And by the end when we were scaling large stone steps in steep chunks, our legs were far from perky and alert. But we can happily report a sunburn-free experience. (Which is more than I can say for a great many other people who were out for the day. One of the more depressing and amusing games you can play on the trail is spot the sunburn -- a lot of hikers appear to forget to sun-proof their ankles and the tops of their feet, gaining a pair of pink sunburn socks for their troubles.)



The first town we visited was the small and gentle Riomaggiore. We found a little café with great macchiati and brioche (one filled with chocolate, the other with apricot) and headed out with a heap of energy. Riomaggiore's harbor is home to fishermen fixing their boats under the morning sun and pastel homes tumbling along together. But the most colorful aspect of this area, and the feature we could not stop talking about over the entire distance of our hike, was the stunning color of the sea. Beyond blue and more like teal melting into aquamarine with a snap of turquoise - you could clearly see the rocks spattered along the seafloor and fish darting through the sunspots. Blue is nice but Ligurian is better.

16 May 2006

anchovies anyone?



Bologna is one hour and 45 minutes from Milan and if you're lucky you will maybe, magically, have a sense of the system by which Eurostar trains assign seats in second class. It is a fascinating work wherein numbers separated by vast quantities of other numbers are seated directly next to each other, while numbers in close proximity - such as 43 and 44 - are seated far enough away from each other so as to be unable to hold a conversation. Far be it for me to reinvent a long-standing seating system but next time I'd rather sit next to my husband and our friends rather than a generously-sized woman who was as equally interested in her mystery novel as my share of the armrest.

You may picture Bologna as a quaint town in which a thousand soft and wise grandmas stir pots of ragu and wrestle with fresh pasta, all the while guarding the secrets of Italy's finest food. You may also picture the city that houses the world's oldest university as a place haunted by academics with pithy conversations overflowing into the streets and a thousand things to learn before noon. Alas, it is neither. But you can find a pretty mean pair of knock-off sunglasses once night falls.



The food is wonderful. There is no denying that. We happened to find a wildly popular cafeteria at lunchtime in the back of an "antica salsamenteria" in the market area of Bologna. The self-service cafeteria, replete with trays and the rails on which to push them past myriad food choices, can be found in the back of Tamburini and goes by the name of VeloCibo -- fast food. The food is fast and it is also good. I was particularly impressed by the fennel, a vegetable which goes sadly unappreciated in the US but is embraced with passion in Bologna. Did I say passion? I mean cheese.

I think I may also have found my favorite church ever. Santa Maria della Vita has a corner next to the alter that houses, in shadow, the most impressive set of sculpture that I have ever seen in a church. There are 7 life-sized terracotta sculptures reacting to Christ's fallen body before them. Their faces are twisted into the depths of anguish, shockingly visceral and overcome with the force of human feeling.



If you drop 50 cents into a small box hanging from the wall opposite the Pieta you will be rewarded by previously hidden lights illuminating what was just seconds before a shadowy and dark scene. And it is indeed a reward, especially to those who have just spent 15 minutes trying to hold their cameras steady enough in the darkness to capture just a glimpse. I'll not mention any names.



Europe's oldest university is situated in Bologna and has been since the 11th century. Historically a source of Italian luminaries, its intellectual and historical importance can be felt in the weight of the walls and the dip worn into stone steps used by centuries of students.

Bologna is peppered with towers that lean precariously off balance. Think leaning tower of Pisa but made of bricks. Same angle, different materials and in the middle of a functioning city. It's that sort of juxtaposition that allows Bologna a touch of medieval flair. There are also fountains crowned with nude gods and goddesses, with water eschewing from rather uncomfortable places. But rest assured, modern Italy is ever present; should you desire to make a purchase during the lunchtime hour, or on Sundays, you will be met with virtual impossibility.



I will close by saying that if you are scared by the idea of a pasta dish starring anchovies and capers you should not be. You should embrace it and ask the woman who has made it to bring you more. You should take bites of the pasta and run into tiny shreds of anchovy and plump savory capers. You should dredge the spaghetti through the olive oil at the bottom of the plate and catch a few morsels from the sprinkling of parmesan that has randomly fallen across your plate. You should also drink some carbonated red wine with friends and visit each other's meals with your forks and share desserts and walk back to the hotel laughing. You should, most certainly, do this very thing.

10 May 2006

what a little milk can do



I'm a macchiato kind of gal. Most mornings, I like my small shot of coffee to have a puffy top-coat of foam. It's a nice contrast to the caramel nature of the espresso below, and also the perfect place to deposit a fine stream of sugar that sinks slowly through the foam and into the liquid below. A macchiato, I assert, is where it's at.

However, should you be in Rome and have a moment to indulge in a brief respite, I would head to this cafe. I would then order a cappucino. I most certainly would drink it while doing my best to hold in the ooh's and aah's.



The cappucino here is a sweet and perky coffee with much more spirit than any cappucino I'd had previously. It was not lazy with milk the way others have been, dragged down into blandness by the sheer abundance of it. This cappucino was alive and vibrant and exactly the kind of drink one imagines would exist in Rome.

It's a drink for watching people. And practicing your Italian. And pondering how it is that a place like Rome can exist; with it's history and mystery and perfectly-sweetened caffe.

08 May 2006

but don't forget the sides



We were in Rome for work on Friday and stayed to poke around the city on Saturday morning before our train. What a fabulous place, and so very different from Milan. Whereas in Milan you notice the tourists, in Rome it is the locals who are the strangers and thus stand out.

The city itself is a chaotic mix of ancient and alive, things that are so old you cannot move them and things moving in every direction at once. There are scooters in every conceivable space and people pointing cameras in every direction.



Except in the Pantheon. In the Pantheon you point the cameras up. You look up. In fact, everyone looks up and every camera is pointed in that direction. Because it is the perfect hole in the top of the dome, with it's ray of perfect light shining through, that is both amazing and unbelievable. And the reason we all walked through the grandiose entrance and the columns around it.



The Pantheon is quite old. It was entirely rebuilt in 125AD by Emperor Hadrian. RE-built. It originally was constructed between 27 - 25BC as a temple. That's BC as in Before Christ.

In 609 AD it was consecrated as a Christian site because apparently the Christians had a hard time passing the structure without a trail of demons tormenting them along the way.

Flash forward a thousand years+ and the building is one of the finest and most complete examples of Roman architecture in the city. The diameter is exactly equal to the height and the hole in the center of the dome is a full 9 meters across. There are no supports to be seen, all hidden within the walls themselves.



It is marvelous. The ray of light breaching the hole in the center of the dome, and striking the interior wall, is one of the most dignified and majestic combinations of nature and structure that I can imagine. And I, for one, couldn't help pointing my camera in that direction as well.

01 May 2006

so much better with water



The last Sunday of every month in Milan is cause for a sprawling antique market along the Grand Canal. It's a great opportunity to people watch and take in a healthy helping of second-hand smoke. And gelato. Always gelato.

The good thing about the canals this weekend is that they are filled with water again. We went to the market last month and there was a lack of water and as a result a lack of a certain amount of charm. The canals without water are muddy troughs that happen to pass under bridges, but the canals with water are honest to goodness canals. The stuff of postcards and photographs. And the perfect spine for a long line of merchants and their wares.



The market has a little bit of everything. Clothes. Jewelry. Furniture. Clocks. Lewd artwork. Mod chairs. And more. It's nice to stroll along taking in the tables covered with stuff, while also trying to keep an eye on the ground where the uneven stones and tram tracks could, possibly, be the source of a walking incident.



I'd imagine that with proper Italian skills there is bargaining to be done. And there are certainly clothes to try on. There are small dogs to keep from fighting one another. And naughty little items to turn away from quickly. It's one big happy canal-side shopping adventure.



Did we buy anything? Try on anything? No and no. But we also did not break anything and did not fall into the canal. It was a good day.