pad thai and chocolate

Say you live in Milan and find yourself hankering for Thai food. Where do you go for a spring roll or two? The answer's easy: Lugano.

Now if we're going to get technical about geography, Lugano is in Switzerland - not Italy. But once you've lived in Italy for a while you give up on certain things. Like pad thai.



Lugano is more well known for the fact that it sits astride a mountain-wrapped lake and boasts greenery in all the right places. It has that special beauty of Switzerland - a country that proves an organized and efficient culture is no less beautiful than those carried along by the momentum of dust and history. And it also has chocolate.



Last weekend, after a tour of the park with its fresh air and flowers we found ourselves drawn not only to the Thai food (oh, pad thai, we miss you so) but to the shopping. Yep, we're the only nerds who go up to a gorgeous Swiss lake and head to the mall.

So there wasn't really a mall in Lugano but there was a department store with a grocery store in the basement that was nothing short of magnificent. There's no exaggeration involved in saying that the grocery stores we have access to in Milan are neither well-stocked nor a joy to explore. Heck, we're lucky if there's more than one carton of skim milk for sale and the floor waxer isn't doing his job in the middle of grocery rush hour.



But the Swiss grocery store... you can't help but smile, lingering in the aisles, trying to decide which wonderful and glorious items will accompany you home. We spent an hour pointing at the shelves: "Look! Can you believe it? They have --- !!" We must have put on quite a show, two grown adults working up a sweat over bouillon cubes.

You never know what you'll find on a Saturday trip. Sometimes a gorgeous lake. Sometimes bouillon cubes. And if you've got time for a long weekend, I'll give you directions to the best Mexican restaurant around. It happens to be in Hungary...

sagra dei ceci

There are 20 regions in Italy. I'm happy to report that in two days we breezed through 7 of them, and stopped in a foreign country along the way. I'm not quite as happy to report that there was a whole 'lotta time spent in the car.

Our Italian road tripping was all in the name of the mighty cece; or as it's less elegantly referred to in english...the chickpea. Last weekend in the small Abruzzan hilltown of Navelli there was the Sagra dei Ceci, a multi-day celebration of the chickpea with an additional spotlight on saffron. Think children dressed in chickpea outfits, donkeys racing in dusty circles, and a menu focused on all things chickpea and saffron.

Getting there was a long haul taking nearly 12 hours. For a healthy chunk of that time we sat in beach traffic that crawled to a complete stop. But during moments of great excitement our car would begin to move, creeping alongside cars filled with beach balls and beach towels, and bored children antagonizing small dogs.

When we couldn't take another minute in the car we had a late lunch in another country. Really. We went to San Marino. It's a small republic in the mid/northwest of Italy that seems to exist solely for tourism and motorcycle racing. I'm not sure where they do the motorcycle racing that dominates their banners and billboards, but I sure didn't have a problem finding the tourists.

Before long we were driving through mountain tunnels cutting through the Abruzzan hills. One tunnel was over 10 kilometers long and it was a few kilometers into this tunnel that our driver felt the need to tell us about the time his car exploded into a wall of fire midway through New York's Holland Tunnel. A wall of fire you say? In a tunnel? Thanks a lot.

A childhood friend of our friend lives in Navelli so we had a very warm welcome from the start. And despite it being a very small town (population 625) we spent healthy amounts of time meeting the locals and eating chick peas with them. (After they'd spent all day cooking and preparing the food.)



We ate in a large piazza filled with plastic chairs and tables that slowly filled to capacity as nightfall came. Eventually, each table was heaped with plates of food and plastic tumblers of wine. All foods featured either chick peas or saffron or were some version of a local favorite. Chick pea soup. Chick pea pasta. Chick peas toasted in sugar. Saffron risotto. Pasta with saffron cream. Porchetta. And grilled lamb. And salsiccia after 6pm.



Children ran around and the band played late into the night. It was a street party at its best. And it's also the first place we've seen a scorpion in Italy. Come to think of it, it's the first time I've ever seen a scorpion outside of a cage. And you'd better believe we checked under the pillows that night before going to bed.



Part of Navelli is built into the hills and when you follow the rising and curving maze of pathways, you find homes damaged and deserted during World War II. Bombed out and never re-inhabited, their interiors are overgrown with grass and weeds. Crumbled staircases are carpeted by brush and rise to second floors defined by walls with gaping holes. And some floors have just tumbled away, leaving behind their skeletal supporting beams to bleach in the sun.

You find chickens pecking at the dirt and tall white geese stretching their necks in the dark shadows. But turn in another direction and you wander towards residences where life goes on, where there's the smell of roasted peppers on the breeze. And the locals and artists who keep this place alive peek out of their beaded curtains to check on the strangers.



All the while, staring back from the the crest of hills facing town are the remains of a burned forest. Like a donkey's ragged mane they stood black and scratchy against the blue sky. Only weeks ago the hills had gone up in flames. And the flames had poured down the hills and rushed the town. They were stopped, but not before damaging the forests where the festival was traditionally held. This year's Ceci Festival became not only a way for the town to come together but also an opportunity to raise money to restore what was lost.

Our Sunday lunch was too good to be true. We ate at the home of our hosts. There were eight of us around a long table, with a checked cloth laid between us. There was lasagna al forno made by Nonna (Grandma). And grilled eggplant in olive oil made by Nonna. And a soft chocolate cake made by Nonna. And I was sitting next to Nonna and she kept saying to me, with true desire in her voice, "Mangia! Mangia!" Eat! Eat!



And Nonno (Grandpa) was hard of hearing so people had to shout, "Nonno! Do you want mortadella?!" And of course he did. And when the fruit came, after the mortadella, it was the sweetest softest fruit I've ever had. It was laid out in colorful piles, with water still clinging to the skins. The peaches were bright apricot inside and the figs were so soft that they nearly poured out of their skins. And the watermelon was a delicious round of heavy wet fuschia.

Oh my, si mangia bene a Navelli.



After lunch we sat on kitchen chairs alongside the house as the wind rushed by. We were told that the wind comes up like that every afternoon. There was a tiny kitten tripping through the flower beds; its mother a sleek Siamese that couldn't care less. And when we tried to feed the chickens, they didn't want our watermelon rinds.

Nonno showed us his storeroom and the sacks of almonds collected from his daily walks. There were laundry lines hung with drying onions next to buckets of chicken feed. And pointing at the gnarled piles of firewood, we found out that Nonno cuts all of that timber himself.



Sunday afternoon's celebrations started with the town children dressing in traditional red and white garb, their costumes edged with dried chickpeas that had been delicately sewn into place. They carried baskets of chickpeas and waited with the rest of the town until a group of donkeys and their riders arrived in the piazza. We then followed the donkeys down through the town until we all arrived in a dusty field.



The Palio was held in a field where any remaining shrubs had been trampled by the crowds. Modeled after the world-famous horse race run in Sienna's main piazza, this was on a smaller and more humble scale. Several donkeys, coached by a rider and a guide both dressed in satiny renaissance ensembles, would run a three lap race. However, to say "run" implies an urgency not shared by the donkeys. For the most part they rambled their way along and ignored the imploring shoves and shouts of their riders. Use this link to view footage of the race: http://ilcentro.repubblica.it/multimedia/home/1079994

As shown in the video above, a winner was eventually found and the crowd was pleased. We then all made our way back to the main piazza to celebrate the winning donkey, the ceci beans, and the fact that summer in Italy is a fine thing.

The way back to Milan took 7 hours (7pm-2am) and featured not only a perfect view of the Big Dipper from the backseat, but a rest stop with a steely Doberman Pincher in addition to the usual overpriced gas. (Note: a tank of gas these days goes for about 60 euro = $89.)

But that 60 euro does get you a breeze-by tour of the big names of Italy: Rome, Florence, Bologna, Milano. We just kept following the highway signs from one big city to the next in the hopes that their lack of beaches would also mean a lack of returning-from-the-beach traffic. Unlike on the way there, we didn't even need a map.

All we needed was more of Nonna's grilled eggplant in olive oil. And guess what... she'd packed us some before we left and insisted we take it along. I guess the motto of Italian grandmas (Mangia! Mangia!) applies even in moving vehicles.

f is for ferie

It's that time of year in Milan. You'll find it impossible to buy the 14 euro cube of cheese you've innocently had your eye on. Or the 24 euro tub of gelato featuring a whopping two flavors. And just give up trying to order the 50 euro plate of goose salami.

It's not that Milan has been stricken by a wave of sensible and clearly-displayed pricing... We've dropped those hopes along with the idea that the customer is always right and the vague notion that the customer might warrant a blink of attention while shopping. Instead, I'll point at the calendar and remind you that the lack of over-priced goods available in Milan is simply due to the month of the year.



It is August and Milan is closed.

There are entire stretches of neighborhood where every shop is closed. They've been emptied of their inventory and shut behind metal gates and papered windows. There are small signs with drawings of palm trees and sail boats stuck to the windows. These signs all basically say, happy vacation and what the hell are you still doing in Milan?

It's true. Most all of Milan has gone. They've gone to the mountains or the sea and they've clogged the highways with their mass exodus. You can see their absence in apartment windows with all of the security shades drawn. And you can feel it walking along sidewalks empty of their usual rushers and dawdlers. And where, for the love of Milano, are the sidewalk scooters nipping at your heels?



The only remaining neighbors are the ones you wish would move away forever. The ones that sneak into your bedroom and torment you before dawn, yet always wait until well after you've drifted off to sleep. The mosquitoes are here. They haven't left. And despite the proximity of endless and what must be incredibly-alluring rice paddies surrounding Milan, they never will.

Despite the mosquitoes we've almost come to appreciate the surreal August quiet that strangles Milan. Today we even found a gelato. And maybe tomorrow there'll be an olive breadstick. But the thing we're really excited about... The thing we just can't wait for...

September. When the restaurants open again.

Biennale di Venezia

What draws someone through heavy black curtains into a tiny dark room to watch black and white video of people crawling through forest snow? Or better yet, looping footage of a naked woman perched in a tree mimicking the squawking of nearby birds? (Believe me, the initial intrigue of her nudity is quickly overwhelmed by the exuberance of her squawking.) I've seen these videos and I can tell you that the one thing they've taught me is that if I ever knew the value of video art, I've long since forgotten.

The convenient benefit to my (and our) lack of appreciation for this art medium is that it makes the Venice Biennale easier to attend. Once you realize you don't care about what's behind the curtains, you stop having to look behind them. This may sound like the lack of an open mind, but in reality when you have an already limited amount of time to focus on art, this technique gives you more time to focus on the art you just might like.

Easily the coolest and most economical attraction in Venice these days, the Venice Biennale is a sprawling showcase of contemporary art that's really amazing. There is just so - much - art. The exposition is organized in two major zones of Venice: the Giardini della Biennale and the Arsenale; and both are interesting places in their own right.



The Giardini della Biennale is basically the grounds for a World's Fair. Gravel paths and promenades arrive at diverse buildings in every style, each built by a specific country and housing that country's official art exhibit. For example, the United States' building is straight off the grounds of Thomas Jefferson's Monticello and features the art of Felix Gonzalez-Toress. What's most compelling about this work is it's interactivity; one piece is a carpet of black candies that is replenished daily, replacing the pieces removed by the passing audience.



The Arsenale is a colossal shipyard in the midst of Venice's sprawling waterside. The building you walk through never seems to end and the art is everywhere. This part of the exhibition is as intriguing for its structure as for the art on display -- rails from the previous transport systems and cisterns once filled with flammable liquids share the space with contemporary arts biggest names. For a split second on entering the Chinese pavilion, you don't know what is art and what is structure. I'm hardly the person to ask about what this means to contemporary art.

We took in the exhibition over a weekend - one day devoted to the Giardini and another to the Arsenale. At 15 euro for admission to both I'd say this ticket is one of the best buys in Venice, if not all of Italy. The Biennale closes on November 21 and if I had the time I'd truly consider going back for more.



Most Powerful Moment: Eric Duyckaerts, Belgium
(AKA: Most Likely To Injure Small Children)

The most compelling moment of the entire exposition was one split-second in the Belgian exhibit. We were inside the curving confusion of a glass and mirror maze. Each turn you took confused your position not only by simple geography but because the mirrors and glass created virtual copies of you and everyone else in the room.

It was very difficult to know where anyone was, and where the glass stopped and real space began. This confusion is best enjoyed at a slow, wandering pace. The only person who didn't know this was the very small boy who became so excited by the reflections and light that he ran straight for the exhibit - and straight into a glass wall. You heard the contact before you saw him standing there, confused and in pain. His joy and excitement had been crushed in one upsetting instant and in that moment every piece of lofty art fell right back down to what human feeling really means.



Reason To Start A Fanclub: Sophie Calle, France

Forget croissants and the Eiffel tower and head straight for Sophie Calle. This French artist caught us both by surprise and we couldn't help gravitating to the witty and smart simplicity of what she's up to. Her showcase piece, entitled "Take Care of Yourself," was a sprawling examination of a break-up email she'd received from a lover. But - and here's where she trumps the expected alone-in-this-world artist pathos - this exhibit showcases the perspectives of 100+ women who she asked for their own analysis of the message. Each woman responded in her own way; one grammatically diagrammed the sentences, another turned it into textured Braille, while still another responded with a comic monologue delivered while chopping onions. This is multi-media at its best and sheds so much light on the email that in the end it matters far less than the conversations about it. We bought it hook, line and sinker. And we also bought the book.



Best Left For The Experts: Various Video Artists

As previously mentioned. Even if you call your video piece "Fun Palace" we're not going in. I promise.



Strongest Motivation To Move Quickly: Nordic countries (Finland, Norway, Sweden)

A long tall wall in this exhibit is blanketed with never-ending yellow and black dart boards. Like a stationary storm of bumble bees the wall seems to pulsate and throb. And every few seconds a dart pierces the surface. And then another. And another. Until the dart-thrower has no darts left in hand.

At this point the individual must decide to brave the firing wall, and quickly get close enough to retrieve a handful of darts. Except that the darts are hard to find in the excess of pattern and this is not the place to dawdle while other dazed art-lovers, wanting to be a part of this great moment in the history of art, hurl more darts at the wall.

So run, quick to the dartboard wall. Notice that there are a great many darts resting high on the boards, where they aren't easily reached. Decide that you can reach them if you just jump high enough. Jump. Reach. Grab one. Jump. Reach. Again. Then quick, run back to where it's safe. Where the hipsters in all black and designer tennis shoes can't take out their espresso-fueled angst on you by missing the wall of dartboards, and instead, lodging a dart in you.



Lose Your Husband Here: Padiglione Italia

The Italian pavilion is a very large space. By function, it has to be. It has to provide enough emptiness and open space to display a great many pieces of wild and wooly art without having the pieces turn on each other. Yes, yes, I know; the art needs to breath, the open areas need to mirror the energetic ones. Ok, great. But wouldn't the appreciation of the art be increased if people didn't lose the folks they came with? Or better yet, shouldn't the folks we came with not wander off? Any ideas there, Stefano? In the meantime I guess I can just hang out with the Italian hipsters... Maybe they know what I should like about video art.



Best Coffee Break Background: Paula Trope (BRA)

Think of that one crazy neighbor in town who has a backyard filled with an obsessive collection of some single object. There are piles of this object colonizing and suffocating every available space with pockets of brave weeds and grass growing up through the voids. Now imagine if those piles were of bricks and concrete blocks painted to look like the vivid buildings of a sprawling Latin American city. Drop these piles into the center of the Giardini della Biennale and put some chairs and tables nearby. This, my friends, is the best place in all of Venice for an espresso. (And far easier than climbing over the crazy neighbor's fence.)

sono io

When glaciers crack it sounds like thunder bursting and then rolling across the sky. This sound is even more dramatic if you've paused for a lunch break of cheese (Toma) and salame (Ungherese) and suddenly wonder just how far you are from that glacier. On Saturday we quickly concluded we were at a safe distance but weren't quite so sure about the guy laying shirtless along the edge of the glacial lake.

We had hiked to a mountain ridge over which you could see glaciers hugging the rocky peaks. The route there was overrun with mountain flowers clustered in vibrant swaths. We crossed more than one creek running with the melted water of glaciers we would soon see. And there were cavorting topless children of both genders. Thankfully, as I've mentioned in previous posts, Italians seem a tough group to burn.



At our glacial vista we got to talking with some of the other lingering hikers and met a group of Sicilian trekking club members who were traveling through as part of a longer trip. While surprised by the briefness of our weekend visit they began to understand our time restriction when we explained that, unlike our Italian brethren, Americans aren't off for the entire month of August... Should we find some vacation time to swing through Sicily, though, we've been invited to hike Etna. These are the same guys who, later over dinner at our shared hotel, would inform us that their hike across the actual glacier resulted in the un-icing of a pick ax from the 1940's. Serious hikers, yes.



Neither Stefano nor I had never been this close to a glacier before and we were in awe of the blue ice imperceptibly dragging its way down the mountainside. And each time it cracked, our interest only heightened. However, the aforementioned topless children, by now covered with fleece and wool, would hardly cast a glance. Apparently, 7 year olds who spend their weekends in the Alps are a little less in awe of all the fuss than the city folks. (They even bring Nintendo Gameboys to fill in when nature can't quite pull its entertainment weight.)

On the way back down we took a small detour to rest our feet in one of the cold creeks snaking its way down from the glacier. The water was cold and clear and a small party of butterflies took up shop on our scattered shoes and socks. It's become our usual refrain, but I have to say again - it's hard to believe these places are so relatively close to Milan. We were in Val Gressoney - one of the mountain valleys in Aosta - and in sum total it took us about four hours to get there (two trains and a bus) from Milan's Central Station.



The towns in this valley could well pass for Swiss hamlets. There are the telltale chalets, and the bell towers rising in front of snowy peaks. But there's also a non-stop wave of Italians with babies and dogs. And if they don't have one, they have two of the other. We felt a little deficient in both categories and so rebuffed our outsider status by indulging in gelato. And then, not one half hour later, we dug into pastries and espresso while, I kid you not, we were surrounded by babies and dogs. Thank goodness for the man eating an entire fondue pot of melted chocolate by himself.



The following day, before beginning our trek home, we took a series of cable cars up and over mountains to what looked like a martian landscape. Reddish and rocky, it was cold and the air was thin. The cable car operator told us it was a uniquely clear day out and that we could see Switzerland from our vantage point. We're a little less well-versed in mountain geography but the clarity of our view ended only behind several gigantic and distant mountain ranges in all directions.

On our way back down to a refugio lunch of savory crepes and cold Cokes, we shared a cable car with two ladies. It was cold up there and so I sniffled. And then - ok - maybe I sniffled again. At this point one of the ladies turned to her friend and, in Italian, told her to take a Kleenex. The woman, quietly, told her friend that it wasn't her who was doing the sniffling. Non sono io, she said. It was a great moment to know Italian. Sono io, I said. "It's me."



There was laughter and a Kleenex was foisted upon me. Then attentions turned to the roving fleet of cows whose bells were sighing on the grassy meadows below our cable car. The same lady who provided the Kleenex told her friend that she could never stand to be around those bells all day. That it would drive her crazy. Just as I was thinking about how much I loved the music of those bells.

Again, I guess it's all about perspective. And our perspective is one that we like to keep changing. Climbing up to the glaciers. Putting our feet in the creeks. Waiting for the butterflies to take off, rather than shooing them away.