B is for bici

Italians are wild for bicycles. Milano is full of people balancing children, cigarettes, cell phones, and small dogs on bicycles of all shapes and sizes. But the best bikes, the most charming and european and all of the other things that make your heart take a little extra thump... the best bikes are the old bikes. The beaten-up bikes with histories and adventures stored in their rust spots and baskets.

So Stefano being the stalwart and generous gentleman we know him to be went on a noble quest. He knew I wanted an old bicycle and so he went looking for an old bicycle. He called every store he could find in the telephone listings. They said there were no old bikes to be had. He was certainly welcome to purchase a new, shiny bicycle. Of any color he might prefer. But he did not prefer to find a new bicycle.

And then he went to talk to all the people he knows in Milan. He talked to the baker. The student. The man who cares for the building we live in. No one knew where you could buy used bikes. Or if they knew of a friend of a friend who might be able to find one they were always careful to insist that it had not been stolen. And there's nothing like a powerful, unprompted denial to make you start discreetly moving in the opposite direction.

So poor Stefano gave up. He let go of the dream of an old bike for me for today. A special day on which the surprise of an old bike would be absolutely fitting. And after he gave up he went to the bar for a coffee. The bar on the corner that we like to go to. And he asked our friend, the owner, where it is that someone can find an old bike in this town.

An old bike?
Yes, an old bike.
I have one in the back. I'll give it to you.

And with that an old bike was found. Una bici with a story. Una bici from a friend. Una bici for il mio compleanno.

B é per la bici.

alta and bassa

Following our tradition of treating weekends as an opportunity to explore... yesterday we took the train to Bergamo, a bi-level city about one hour from Milano. We were treated to a gray hazy day, with clouds that hovered low but never quite got around to raining. It was chilly though and both of us, at times, lamented the fact that we had dressed for summer rather than fall. (May I also add, hallelujah for fall! Summer in Italy is no laughing matter.)

Bergamo has a lower section and an upper section. The lower section, Bergamo Bassa, is the modern part of the city where the office buildings and cars congregate. Bergamo Alta is the medieval walled section, about 1200 feet up, which is reached by funicular or steep path. Despite starting our Bergamo visit off with frothy cups of cappuccino and a fair amount of energy, I have to admit to taking the funicular. A good deal at 1 euro, it's also worth pondering exactly how such a thing works as it smoothly climbs the hillside in its own tunnel. (There's a cable running along the ground, and it appears to be pulling the funicular car up along the track but I digress...) No matter how it works, it is apparently "bellissima" which is what the kids who scrambled over us and into the prime viewing spots kept saying. We played the role of mature adults and refrained from informing the children that we had gotten there first and therefore deserved an unencumbered view.

Sitting on high, Bergamo Alta is quaint and charming and has all of the little touches that people like about quaint Italian towns. There are balconies with detailed iron work, flowering plants pouring out of windows, cobblestone streets, breadshops churning out piles of pastries and bread loaves as large as end tables.



There is also a cake for which Bergamo is specifically known. We tried it for the first time when friends who were staying with us took a day trip to Bergamo and returned with one; we liked it then and we like it now. The cake is called "Polenta e osei" and is made to look like a freshly molded polenta being sampled by a few bold "osei," aka birds. On the inside there are layers of apricot preserves and almond paste and light airy cake and a little chocolate cream. It's very sweet and in its petite way is a bit of a charmer. We bought one for us and one for the man who watches the entry gate to our building. It's hard to leave Bergamo with only one.



The church of Santa Maria Maggiore is one of the famous sites in Bergamo Alta and for good reason. On the interior it's fairly striking with the entire ceiling covered in the excess artifice for which Baroque style is known. Cherubs and angels and every kind of gilt ornamentation is spread thickly along the vaulted ceilings. It may be garishly gaudy in the eyes of some, and glorious to others - I fall somewhere in the middle, wondering exactly how the builders of this large church managed to not only construct the ceiling but also cover it with an absurd amount of accessories in the process.



When you're in Bergamo Alta, there's another funicular you can take to reach a still higher part of town featuring an old castle. It's more of a park with the feel of a castle than an honest to goodness castle but on a clear day it's supposed to boast the best view in town. We had a good view of the clouds. There was also a very cool piece of art that at first glance looked like a sundial. Its real purpose is to indicate in which direction various towns and monuments lie. There are guiding lines that lead in the direction of a little mountain range you might have heard of called the Alps and a city that we have a passing familiarity with by the name of Milano. Again, had it been a clear day this tool might have worked a little better but it's the thought that counts.




We took the funicular back down to Bergamo Alta - first level - and found a great place to eat. When we first walked in it looked a little empty. But after we made our way to the outdoor seating area we found quite a crowd settled in under the grapevines, next to the bocce ball courts. The pasta we ordered was good, (I had pear and cheese ravioli) and the grilled polenta was great. But I have to admit that the game of bocce ball that started up late into our meal was the highlight of the dining experience. But more on that in another entry. After all, I'd hate to shortchange a game I know nothing about, played by old men drinking beer and wielding large sticks with chalk on the end.

So for now we'll just celebrate the joys of little cakes that look like polenta. And slabs of grilled polenta eaten under a ceiling of grapevines. And cobblestone streets and garish church ceilings. And funiculars. Lots and lots of funiculars.

Praga = Prague = Praha

I was lucky enough to be sent to Prague for business last week. The business was great and so was Prague. The #1 question of the month, though, is why haven't we gone there before? The city is gorgeous, the food is good, and the prices are generously more affordable than Milan.

It's a one hour-ish flight from Milan, most of the airtime spent over mountains of one sort or another. Alitalia is kind enough to serve ice cream cones during the flight and also feature Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue cover models in first class. Your husband may recognize such models while standing close to them on the tarmac bus, then may go so far as to confirm his assumptions by gawking at their boarding pass. But then, in a sad showcase of jitters, he may refrain from hounding her for a photo -- leaving both your husband and his fantasy football league with a lingering sadness.



Prague, on the other hand, will only make you happy. It is incredibly aesthetically appealing and for a former Communist state there were surprisingly few blocky monstrosities - one of which was our hotel, but I digress. On the whole the city is light and airy with a consistent prickling of spires rising into the sky. These are best seen, and most appreciated, from at least nine floors up. One of our lunches was in the hotel restaurant on the ninth floor and the windows looked onto a garden of spires, sprinkled consistently into the distance.



Many of the buildings are Art Nouveau with the details and artistry that in the US is seen mostly on greeting cards and college dorm posters. And to be truthful the most interesting parts of the city are seen by looking up. The cornices and windows, signs and statues are all found far above street level. Prague is also known for its beer, but I would recommend finishing your "looking up" tour before embarking on your "beers of Prague" tour. Vice versa might make for some navigational and gravitational issues.



As Milan drinks wine, Prague drinks beer. It's easy to understand and easy to participate. The glasses are large, the beer is fresh and crisp, and there is none of that lingering murkiness of lesser beers. When you drink beer in its hometown, you're drinking something altogether different. I'm regularly not a beer drinker but in Prague I happily complied. That's how good the beer is.

And it's strange to say it but there is also good Thai food. Why eat Thai food in the Czech Republic? Isn't that a wasted chance to eat Czech food? What you don't know, my friend, is that Milan is sorely lacking in Thai food. Either that, or it's hidden far far away where we can't find it. So please refrain from judging us; just know that a spring roll and Lad Nar can be had in the Czech Republic should it be desired. And it was desired.



There are a lot of sights to see: an astrologically themed clock that people gather to see ring on the hour, towers to climb, the Jewish quarter with its synagogues and cemetery, museums and monuments, statues and bridges, shockingly large spiders that come out after dark ... Prague is rife with things to see and do. This time around we were with a large group of what we now call "old" friends and so reveled in the chance to hang out & catch up and so didn't see as many of the highlights as we might have liked. But what we did manage to see has convinced us to return.

long swiss weekend

There isn't enough time to properly describe our weekend jaunt. We were in the Ticino region of Switzerland and visited castles in Bellinzona, hiked in Valle Verzasca and rode a very warm rail car through the Centovalli. The best way to describe our long weekend may be Roger Ebert/Gene Siskel style with two giant thumbs up.

Really, the whole time we were amazed by what we had found and where we were. In fact, when we got off the bus, Stefano says that I whacked him and squealed in sheer joy. I believe him. Because when you step off a bus and are surrounded by mountains, a clear turquoise river lined with white stones, blue sky above, and trees scaling the mountain sides it's hard to know how to react. Sensory overload is a luxury.



We had spent the day before cavorting along castle walls and crashing weddings. Actually, we were just trying to eat our (Swiss!) cheese picnic at one of the castles when it so happened that someone was having their wedding reception there. We stayed cool and hid in the corner - the castle is a public treasure after all - until the bride and groom came swinging by for photos. We tried to flee up the castle ramparts but no sooner had we taken shelter on a tower top when the two lovebirds came our way for a romantic photo shoot. We scurried past them with a "complimenti!" (congratulations) and went to the opposite side of the castle to finish our market day picnic. It takes more than a bride and groom to ruin the joy of a wedge of cheese you can't find in the United States and a hunk of homemade bread.

Switzerland, by the way, makes Milan look cheap. No, really. We were in a constant state of sticker shock. Just when you think that Milan restaurants have the monopoly on over-priced pasta, you venture into Italian-speaking Switzerland and realize oh-no-no! there's always room for improvement in that area. And coffee... double the price for half the taste and charm. Switzerland is lucky that it's gorgeous enough to get away with such egregious behavior. The problem seems to be that the country, and its merchants, know that.



But back to the beauty. Unstoppable and unbelievable natural beauty. We took a ten mile hike and almost every foot of it was gorgeous. Really. Sure, at some parts we were hungry and couldn't believe that we still had 3 hours to go, but then we stopped for some over-priced pasta in a village along the way, and we were fine. Actually, giddy. So giddy that we climbed up and over rocks and found secret waterfalls and got in them. It was like Hawaii had come to Europe. Water was misting down from one waterfall three or four stories up, that fell to the next waterfall, that then tumbled its way to us. And then down past us and further below. And it was clear and crisp and cool - because it was coming from somewhere up high where nature makes crystal clear water and sends it down to us like a gift.



And the water flowing through the valley is actually turquoise. Really. I haven't done anything to adjust this photo - nature in Switzerland doesn't need Photoshop. I don't understand it but I love it. And it's this way for the whole stretch. You could inventory the rocks without ever taking them out of the riverbed.

We spent all day hiking and exploring and after an ice cream sundae in a small village populated by rock cottages, we went back to our Osteria -- a combination restaurant and hotel in the middle of nowhere -- where we had all the dinner our pocket change could afford. Surprise! Turns out the Osteria doesn't take credit cards. Good thing the waterfall keeps running and the sheep keep bahhing even without tips.



We ended our night in the valley by finding the big dipper right in front of us framed by the looming mountains, and ducking because we happened to be standing too near where the bats come to roost at night.

I can't say enough about where we were and but I have to stop now. We have to pack. We leave for Prague tomorrow.