22 January 2007

valle dei templi



Just to review, Sicily (Sicilia) is the island about to get punted by Italy's boot. It sits in the Mediterranean, surrounded by blue ocean and blue sky, under a glowing blanket of sun. The soil is more orange than brown and spills out in craggy rocks and under large cactus groupings.

The benefit of taking a two-hour train ride across the island is the striking terrain streaming past the window. We were headed south from Palermo to Agrigento to visit the Valley of the Temples (Valle dei Templi) and although it was an early morning train - and it was a Sunday - we stayed up to watch the show. Our train started along the sea, paralleling stone beaches and deep blue waters. And then the train turned inward and crossed the island.



The land was gorgeous and raw, with the tough glow of something baking in the sun for ages. There are rough reaching hills and miles of flatlands pooling at their bases. Orange and lemon trees. Yellow grasses rolling down embankments. Patches of yellow soil tiger-striping the land where vegetation hasn't taken hold. Single trees, and their shadows, spotting isolated stretches. One ruined stone cottage in 5 miles of lonely land.

It was a very different view than we're used to seeing and we thoroughly enjoyed it. That's the wonder of Europe's trains - not only do you get where you're going, generally economically and on time - but you also get to see what passes along the way.



We landed at the Agrigento train station and began the always amusing process of figuring out how to reach our true destination. After a 7 euro map (unnecessary), several free maps (slightly more necessary), 2 coffees (not the way we like them), a run to catch the bus (successful), a bus ride (also successful), and a dusty walk along the side of the road we had reached the Temple Valley.

At this point I should add that the average Sicilian speaks Italian in a very different way than the average Milanese. Credit it to geographical differences but the Italian language down south is a lot less vocally precise than the Italian spoken up north. So while the people we ran into in the tourism industry spoke very annunciated Italian - presumably because they are used to dealing with Italians from all over the country - the average folks on the street were a challenge to understand. Neither of us understood an overheard conversation among locals in the same way.



But we did find the Valley of the Temples and the ruins there are absolutely stunning. These are acknowledged to be some of the finest Greek ruins in the world and date from as early as 6th century BC. There are four specific areas with standing columns, two of them consisting of very complete temples. And the additional marvel is that you simply walk from one to the next. We took about 3+ hours to view the sites but that's because we like to linger (and take a few photos along the way). The woman who'd rented us our audio guide estimated it would take about an hour and a half -- I guess you can run through if you have somewhere else you'd rather be than wandering amongst ancient Greek temples under a cloudless sky.



You wander among the fallen stones and think of what these places looked like in their heyday, how they showcased the power of the region, and stood far taller than anything people of that time had ever seen. Standing in prominent view of the sea, these temples sent the message to all water-going arrivals that this place was a strong, vital area. Still standing today, glowing in the winter sun, the message was quite the same.

It was surreal to be in an Italy that felt so different. Not only was the weather slightly unnerving (70 degrees and sunny instead of 50 degrees and grey) but the setting... Grecian temples and palm trees... would be unfathomable up north. Sure, we've got some Roman ruins, and ok, the sun comes out occasionally, but a place like Agrigento - and Sicily in general - is a wonderful shock to the system. I doubt, though, that a Sicilian visiting Milan would find the shock they receive quite as invigorating.

19 January 2007

drinks for due



After a Saturday afternoon exploring Palermo we were walking along minding our own business. Enjoying the sidewalk (there actually was one), keeping an eye out for when the sidewalk might unexpectedly cease to exist, and doing our best to ignore Palermo's most heavily-used communication method: the car horn.

We were feeling a bit worn as we'd woken up in Milan at 3:30am that morning. That's early enough that you can call your family back in the States and they won't have gone to bed yet. I know this because I called my Mom. And she hadn't gone to bed.

At 4:30am the cab came and dropped us off at the train station. We had to catch a bus to the airport because the train wasn't running yet. Too early for the train is definitely too early for humans. So we waited for the 5:00am bus to Malpensa. Sure, we could pop for an 80 euro cab ride but that means we'd have to feel equally good about similarly wise uses of money such as dental floss made of gold and 6 inch crocodile stilettos.

When the bus finally decided to stop taunting us from a block away - where it had been parked for a good ten minutes - and drive on over, we boarded. I should point out that the ragazzo (young man) driving the bus was listening to dance music. Very rapid dance music. And it was still pitch black out. It really felt like we were going to a dance club along with a busload of our newest friends and all of our suitcases.



Once on the road we realized that the layer of fog we awaken to every morning in gray Milan ain't nothin'. It's but a sad little sheet of air that needs a diet so it hangs low. On the highway to the airport we saw real fog. Fog so thick you couldn't see anything more than a few feet in front of you. Nothing. And this is a few feet in front of a bus driving on the highway...

Luckily we got off the highway for a few miles and instead tried our luck with winding roads and fewer street lights. And as soon as we'd gotten back on the highway - dance music still thumping - we got caught in a traffic jam. Nothing like a 5am traffic jam in dense fog to drench you with positive feelings and excitement for the weekend. And the cherry on top? That was the 5 car pile-up we drove past along the side of the road.

But rest assured we made it to Malpensa on time. Only had two Italians cut in front of us in line and they made the rare gesture of asking if it was okay as they did so. Our plane had understandable problems taking-off on time but once in the air it was but a mere hour and a half to Palermo.

We landed on Sicilia (Sicily) under a golden sun, amidst palm trees and blue sky. What a gorgeous difference - it felt like summer with spring temperatures.

But after a day of exploring wild Palermo (more entries to follow) our early morning wake-up was dragging us down.

That's when we passed the pictured vendor across from the Duomo. We'd not have noticed it except for the sharp and enticing scent of lemons that wrapped around us both as we walked by. It was the scent of a field of lemons split open, lemony goodness absolutely everywhere.

But it was really just in this little stand. And more importantly, it was in what the two people standing in front of it were drinking.



We ordered two. Immediately. And watched the barman craft them. There were fresh lemons and fresh oranges. Seltzer and syrup. The whole thing was shaken and stirred until it developed a froth and all the bits of lemon pulp had floated to the top.

It was a wild ride, this drink. Tart beyond tart. Biting and fizzy. Great and unbearable all at once. Hallelujah for a challenge. And I feel no less a woman for asking for a bit of sugar. And then some more.

I can't tell you what the drink was called. But I can tell you where to go. Across the street from the Palermo Duomo. It's in an alley nook of sorts and it's manned by one guy. Unless he has to step away for a minute and then his friend covers for him. Don't ask his friend what the drink is called, he doesn't know.

And neither do we. We just know that it tastes like Palermo in the early evening after a long day of travel and sun. And car horns. In Palermo you just can't escape the car horns.

12 January 2007

molto chiaro



This sign in the window of a very modern Milano café reads: Looking for young ladies. Maximum age 25. Evening work. Waiting tables.

There's a tie for the aspect that I appreciate most about this sign. I can't decide whether it's the sheer brazenness of the qualifications they've listed as necessary for employment (being a female and being under 25) or if it's the absolute impossibility of this sign ever showing up in the United States.

The Milanese don't ask much of their city. Just the freedom to drive around on the sidewalks when street traffic is heavy and the social permission to smoke cigarettes with abandon despite international health warnings. As long as these basic rights are guaranteed, equal opportunity hiring doesn't seem to come up.

Besides, the work year is only 11 months long in Italy. What with everyone on vacation in August, there's not much time to focus on workplace improvements.

05 January 2007

la strada



I love the streets of Milan. Each its own short sweep of Italian life. Of Italian sun. Of Italian style.

No amount of slow-moving Italians keeping me from getting to work on time. No number of motor scooters nudging up behind me on a skinny sidewalk. No asphalt turned syrupy sticky in the August sun. Nothing can keep me from appreciating a walk down a Milan street.

Why bother chasing down the giants if you can't love the small wonders along the way?

03 January 2007

auguroni



It's only fitting that my 100th post be the first of a new year and so I say buone feste e buon anno to all! (Happy holidays and happy new year!)

We're settled back in Milan after a whirlwind December that saw far too many flights through Heathrow on the way to other destinations but happily also saw visits to and from many of those we love most. There were travels to Miami and Chicago - with a stop at Heathrow in both directions. And there was a visit to Newcastle (UK) with a stop at Heathrow again in both directions - with the added drama of diverting into Paris on the way home due to a medical emergency on the plane.

With all the talk of flying, and Heathrow, my belated gift to you this holiday season is our "December 2006: Travel Findings and Tips" highlighting just a few of the things we've concluded during this well-traveled month. The photos of Milano awash in holiday glow should get us back into the holiday spirit.



Number 1: Do not fly through Heathrow.

Really. We've come to the conclusion that the extra expense of avoiding Heathrow is well worth it. The place is a crazy mash of too many people, too many terminals, too many duty free shops, and too many perfumes for sale in the aforementioned duty free shops. Plus, for those of you who are geographically challenged let me remind you that Heathrow is located in ye olde England. And England uses the pound. And right now the pound is whomping on the dollar at an average rate of 2 to 1. The problem with this little equation is that it means you can't afford anything in the approximately 2 million duty free shops at Heathrow, and you certainly can't afford any of the food in the restaurants. So you will be tired, aggravated (because you've probably missed your connecting flight as we did on the way back from Thailand in October), and starving (the previously noted "can't afford the food" problem.) You will inevitably break down, use your credit card to buy a $7 sandwich in a little plastic container, fight the throngs for a place to sit, and then wonder why you didn't just pop for the direct flight. Hell, the difference in ticket price is probably pretty close to the meal you're buying at Heathrow anyway.



Number 2: Citrus Shred is a liquid.

Now, I'm all for security. 100% without a doubt a fan of rules and regulations. But I'm still irked that we couldn't bring in our carry-on bags the one English product my husband had been craving. Sure, I had guessed it would happen. And in my heart I think I knew that jams and jellies might not be what the Department of Homeland Security wants to see showing up in your carry-on, but I had held out hope that the citrus shred would make it through the x-ray. It didn't. It got chucked into the oversize plastic tub filled with orphaned full-size hair mousses, tubs of moisturizers, and half-finished bottles of water. So word to the wise - if you're not checking your bags, don't bring anything that's over 100mL unless it's solid as a rock. And even though the very same authorities insist you can only bring one butane lighter aboard the plane, if you'd like to bring a few more then simply point into the abstract distance beyond the metal detectors saying that the extra one is for your "brother" and you can bring as many lighters onboard as you'd like. So remember, no jelly... but lots and lots of lighter fluid.

Number 3: Do not eat BA food.

British Airways has a habit of serving terrible food. Maybe you can order a special meal -- vegetarian or kosher or something else someone has put a half a second of extra thought into -- but the regular stuff is just not going to work. At 7am there was an attempt to serve us a sausage and onion relish "sandwich," the use of the word "sandwich" being a little optimistic. It was a split bun that had a split grey sausage laying along the cut. Under the grayish tube was a speckling of brown which I assume to be the relish. This is what I gleamed from the people across the aisle who must have been starving because they actually ate it. There were so many sandwiches handed back to the flight attendant that I'm sure the plane did not need to restock for the next flight. It's a tough call to say whether the grey sausage was better than the cheese+cheese+butter sandwich that we had been served on an earlier flight. I haven't eaten either. I appreciate that BA is trying to be a cut above the rest by serving food and drinks during the flight without an extra charge. But I'll also point out that BA's fares are far more than a Southwest Airlines or an Easy Jet ticket. So there should be food. And right now, I'd assert that there isn't.



Number 4: The English are a fine people, uniquely suited to in-flight conversation.

Despite having an airport I wish to never see again and a currency I can't very well afford the English have provided the finest in-flight conversation we've found. There was the British oil worker returning home from an oil rig in the Caspian Sea who had a unique perspective on family and work. He has one month "on," working 16 hour days, and then one month "off," when he visits his family and catches up on lost time, taking the kids to school, tying their shoes, and trying to get away for visits to Italy with his wife. We also met a woman heading to New Zealand to visit her son who has started a new life in a new country. She was excited to see her grandchildren but had felt very guilty leaving her own ill father behind in England. She also insisted that Charles will never be King because he just isn't the right type, what with the Camilla Parker Bowles affair and all. These people really added a perspective to our visit to England that you can't get bopping about on the streets on your own. I may despise Heathrow, and feel abused by the pound, but I'll have a chat with a Brit on a plane any time.



Number 5: Bring your running shoes.

And get out there. Nothing beats having a run, or a walk, in a different place. You'll feel the pace of a city as you run your way through it; you'll feel the sun, the shade, the showers. You will run past houses and rivers and egrets and squirrels. You'll stumble through history and happenstance and see what kind of grass grows in which kinds of places. Miami will be warm and cold in the morning, and Chicago will be snowy and biting, and Newcastle will strike you with gale force winds along the Tyne. But you will know these places better for your efforts - you will have mental pictures that go beyond a tourists snaps. All for the space of a shoebox in your suitcase.

Bonus Tip Number 6: Go.

You must shake it up. You must leave the norms in the dust. If you don't get up and out, you will never know what it is you love most about where you are. And you will certainly never know what you're missing.

And on we go into 2007.