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.

A is for amica

This is the first in a continuing series of entries inspired by the Italian alphabet.

Today I went to get a haircut at a small pink boutique. Saying boutique makes it sound chic, luxe, extraordinaire. But it's not. It is fairly indie, fairly hip, and molto cool. For example, the girl next to me was getting a very Art-School-meets-Cleopatra hair cut and the girl she'd brought along to keep her company had a buzz cut and an armful of tattoos. Molto cool indeed.

The music was non-stop Madonna through the ages so I had to ask... What did the young man with the scissors think of Madonna's giant H&M advertisement hanging on the scaffolding around Milan's Duomo? It's only the third largest cathedral in all of Europe and here's Madonna, 3+ stories tall, living large for all to see. On the side of a church, people. A giant Italian church!

He was smiling when he answered. "I love to see her there. It makes me so happy! Every time I walk past, I look up and say ciao!" (And then he waved a jaunty, perfect little wave.)

Sounds kind of like seeing a friend... Kind of like seeing an amica.

A é per l'amica

aria fresca

Who knew giant gulps of fresh air and lake breeze were so close? And that the Italian sky could be so big and blue over a simple lake? Ah, if only we had known that August does not affect the wonder of places like this, and that places like this are only an hour away from Milan. Oh August - things could have been so different between us....

Yesterday we took the train to Varenna on Lake Como (Lago Como). The train ride was so brief that there was hardly time to nap before we had reached our destination and were walking down to the lake.

Lago Como is a gorgeous swath of water and for those of you used to Lake Michigan this is something wholly different. In fact, I think Como would be promptly refused entry in the "Great Lakes" region for being simply too quaint and charming. Whereas Lake Michigan is a conquering sort of lake that leaves no trace of land on the other side, Como is a lake that is happy to feature picturesque views of everything on the other side... colorful towns, rising hills and blue skies all around.



Varenna is on the east side of the lake and is a small, quiet place with a castle sitting in the hills. After a coffee and pastries in the company of locals reading the newspaper and tugging at their stubborn dogs, we headed up into the hills to find the castle. It wasn't hard to find, it was just hard to reach. There was something about the low-lying humidity that turned us both into sweaty examples of the human body's attempt to cool itself - with little success. But after a steep hike we arrived at the castle.

It was a small castle but a fun one. There were hawks and an owl who lived on the grounds and in one of the castle's towers there was a collection of the heavy protective garb a knight might wear into battle. I can happily say that metal helmets and swords aren't just for teenage boys anymore. Both Stefano and I look fetching in metal - especially when the helmet won't stay on straight and covers up half your face.



The castle also boasts a spectacular view of the lake. If you're comfortable with climbing rickety stairs with no visible means of support than hop on up to the top of the tower and check out its panoramic view. It's all blue sky and blue waters, and basically gorgeous. And the stairs are even more fun on the way down.

There's a small part of town near the castle and we found a restaurant down one of the tiny streets. (Note to management: thanks for the signs.) We sat down to the tunes of Italian dance music and before we knew it the place was packed. Our food was delicious - Stefano had buckwheat deer ravioli with a butter sauce, I had porcini mushroom gnocchi and we shared a caprese salad to start. Sitting there with the cool breeze flying past and Italian hits pouring from the radio, we were very happy. Not just to be sitting down, but to be sitting there, in the company of small stone buildings and balconies with buckets of flowers pouring over their edges.



When we made it back down the path - which is harder than it sounds - we caught the ferry to Bellagio. The ferry was fun, took about 15 minutes, and took us to another world. Bellagio is the crazy cousin of Varenna. It's much bigger and packed with tourists, with the requisite places to window shop and shop for real; case in point being Stefano's new tie.

In Bellagio we found swans, the world's worst cupcake, and possibly a French rockstar. The swans just hang out along the shore. The cupcake was procured at a bakery and was just so sad and dry - I wanted to like it but even though I ate it (yes, of course I ate it) I have to say I've never had a more disappointing cupcake experience. And the French rockstar... Well he got off a water taxi walking and talking like a French rockstar and his five year old was wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt.

There was also an interesting vignette wherein three over-fashioned young males took turns posing provocatively along the shore, with each taking a turn as photographer. Shots included "young male in white pants perched on boat docking mechanism," "young male in pink polo with collar up lounging next to beached dinghy," and "young male with spiked hair mercilessly harangued until agreeing to pose awkwardly at end of small pier."



I should also mention that an older gentleman joined us on our bench at the water's edge - prime real estate as it was in the shade - and in a series of minute and virtually unnoticeable movements proceeded to take full ownership of the right portion of the bench. It was well done on his part, and he is obviously a master at the art of bench appropriating. We're mere amateurs and so moved further left to accommodate him. We'd lost before the battle even began.

We eventually gave up our place in the shade to duke it out with an international crew of tourists who wanted to get on the ferry asap and nothing was going to slow them down. We took it all in stride and enjoyed the view, the air, and the idea that we can come back.

water water everywhere

Genova (aka Genoa) is a port town that at times feels 100% the port town that it is. There's that certain transient feel in the air. You can buy anything and everything down skinny skittish alleyways. And there's a heck of a lot of neon.

But there's also an aquarium. A very large aquarium - in fact, the largest in Europe. And at 14 euro a ticket I would go so far as to say it's a bargain. We spent almost three hours in the place, and the only real complaint I had was that visitors are forced to walk through two gift stores in the process of visiting the museum. Which isn't as bad as Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago where for a while, and maybe still, the koala lived in the gift store. So if you wanted to see the koala (and who doesn't) you had to go visit him in his charmingly comfortable and homey place of residence - the gift shop. Oh, and at the Aquarium when you enter you're forced to take a photo with a giant seal, a la the Mickey Mouse characters at Disney World but a lot more matted down.

The Aquarium is gigantic and multi-leveled with too many exhibits to count. You do have to suffer the pushing and shoving of toddlers who want to get close to the glass and bang out a hello to the fishies, but it's definitely worth it. There are a ton of tropical fish, jelly fish, dolphins, sharks, penguins, snakes, sting rays and... Like I said, too many creatures to count.



A lot of the exhibits feature multiple species and deeper into the aquarium they're what you would call "experiential." The area is designed as a ship that's set sail on the waters of the world, exploring different waterways and discovering which animals live where. The walk space is designed to feel like a ship on the water and you look over the sides to see the creatures below. Eventually you're moving through a mock jungle area, having landed your sea exploration, replete with vegetation scaling the walls. At this point your path is winding its way to the lower floor where you are then on equal footing with the tanks and the creatures within.

There are sea turtles and sea horses, sea anemones and clown fish. And sting rays that you can touch. Some of the rays would actually lift themselves up out of the water and undulate creepily. It's charming and beautiful when they're swaying and swooping through the water but it feels a little spookier when they're actually raising themselves out of the water and wiggling in the air.



I'll also add that the Aquarium is a great place to learn Italian. There are a lot of Italian parents speaking very slowly and sweetly to their Italian children, in Italian. And as an adult learning a new language, it doesn't get any easier than soaking in the Italian lessons that other adults are giving to their children. "Look at the big fishie," is a useful phrase for anyone -- just think, if you're running around a museum and want to impress your friends you need only replace one word to arrive at the sentence "Look at the big Picasso." Perfect for a viewing of Guernica.

There was actually a fish at the Aquarium that I have never seen before. Ever. And I'm a person who has visited a lot of zoos and aquariums, and doesn't mind reading a National Geographic every now and then. But I had never seen this fish before. Check the next posting to see if you have.

And check out Genova if you're looking for Italy raw. Maybe it's a function of August and all of wholesome Genova is on vacation. Or maybe not. Either way, Genova has a spirit all its own - just be sure you don't encounter it in a dark passageway after dark.

the fish I've never seen

This fish is the "Pesce Luna" (Moonfish) in Italian and the "Ocean Sunfish" in English. And I have never seen it before.

I go to zoos. I go to aquariums. And wait a minute, I actually worked in a zoo. I think I have a fair grasp of what's out there. But I guess I'm not as animal-wise as I thought, because Mr. Sunfish here was like a punch in the gut.

When was the last time you saw something you didn't know existed? For me, seeing this fish was like finding out a secret that a friend had held so well, for so long, that when she finally revealed it your reaction was an uncontrollable ghasp. This fish felt like that.

The Italians at the museum seemed far more enamored with the sharks that shared the tank with the sunfish. (The sharks, mind you, that were smaller than the sunfish!) I respect a shark as much as the next guy but this sunfish was just too odd to ignore.



I have since found out that the ocean sunfish is the world's largest bony fish. Sharks and rays are made of cartilage and so are not the same. The eyes of the sunfish were so large and so alive - moving as it swam past the windows - not at all like standard fish eyes that have all the personality of a rubber tire with a dab of margarine in the center.



The photo above is from www.oceanlight.com and shows just how large sunfish get. Apparently they eat plankton and so are not to be feared by humans. But anything that lives in a tank with a team of sharks and is for the most part left alone deserves a healthy dose of respect. We may not yet know what the sharks figured out long ago.

All I know is that this fish is like a ufo that landed in my backyard. And I'm happy to be let in on the secret.

S506

Last night we went to one of the few places in Milan that was actually open. I'm not kidding about this, people - the city is shuttered and we're running out of things to do. Everyone else is at the seashore or sucking in buckets of fresh air at the mountains but jokes on them because last night we got to see a submarine in the middle of Milano!

We went to the Museo Nazionale della Scienza e della Tecnologia “Leonardo da Vinci” di Milano - aka the Leonardo da Vinci National Museum of Science and Technology in Milan. It was open for the evening in celebration of the S506 Enrico Toti Submarine's one year anniversary at the museum. The sub had been trekked from Sicily to Cremona to Milan and last night celebrated its happy out-of-water life here in Milan.



The submarine is daunting and stands in the middle of an outdoor area featuring fighter planes and a giant lemon with 3 girls inside selling lemon icees and cocktails. Truth be told I think the giant lemon may have been for last night only but Stefano was happy to find a museum that not only had a giant submarine but drinks as well.

The Enrico Toti is the first submarine that Italy built after World War II and is called an SSK, Submarine-Submarine Killer. It's goal was to ferret out other submarines and destroy them. At over 150 feet long and armed with torpedoes, I wouldn't want it tailing me in the high seas.

The Italian public seems to be quite smitten with their land-locked sub and flocked out in droves to see it. So much so that by the time we arrived all of the tickets for touring the interior of the submarine were long gone.



Watching the news later that night we learned that people had lined up very early in front of the museum. Well, to say "lined up" is giving an undue impression of order. As I may have previously mentioned the culture here does not tolerate orderly lines. There's more of a mass blob approach where every unprotected inch of space will quickly be filled by an anxious Italian. This may have resulted in an injury. My comprehension of the facts was not perfect but in the TV footage there was an unhappy person standing very close to emergency medical personnel.

Going in the submarine is a project in and of itself. We witnessed the visitors signing what appeared to be waivers and then donning hairnets and hardhats. Hair nets and hard hats! How festive! They went perfectly with the jazz band jamming in the yard. In fact, had it not been for the flocks of mosquitoes alighting on you every time you stood still it would have been the perfect evening.

It was definitely fun though, and we can hardly complain. We had found something to do in Milan in August. And not only was there a giant lemon, but there were hard hats and a submarine. Find me a quaint little mountain town with that!

where is the happyness?

Lucca is about an hour and a half away from Florence and is a perfectly-placed day trip. Especially if one side of your mother's family hails from this red-roofed Tuscan town.

The city itself is enclosed by a wall which for practical purposes is best desribed as a doughnut-shaped hill circling the town. It's the ideal path for strolling or riding a bicycle with your favorite small dog placed snugly in the wicker basket. If you're just visiting for the day you can easily rent a bike, although finding an available dog might be a bit more challenging...

Finding wonderful things to eat is never a challenge in Italy and Lucca is no exception. Just for fun let's say that your mother, for years, has talked-up a certain kind of bread, saying her Italian grandfather used to feed her chunks of it when she was growing up on Chicago's Oakley Avenue. Let's also say that your mother hasn't been able to find this bread, and you've never tasted it. But your mother continues to praise this mythical bread to the rafters. Then, like magic, you come to Lucca and voila!



Buccellato is one of Lucca's specialties. Who knew? It's a gently spiced anise bread that comes with or without raisins. The loaf is ring-shaped or standard rectangular and perfect for tearing into hunks and eating on the street. The birds will quickly take care of any errant crumbs although with our family the unclaimed crumbs are few and far between.

That my great grandfather fed my mother hunks of Buccellato makes sense; he came from Lucca. His daughter - my grandmother - was born there. Eating this bread in present-day Lucca, standing outside the bakery with my parents, my sister, and our husbands was like a reunion of sorts. Not everyone could be there with us, many are long gone, but we were in the place where a part of our family began. Eating something they ate. Something my mother remembered from her childhood and told us about for years. We had our own link in this chain of walled-city and ringed-bread.



We had lunch in Lucca, dining outside in the company of dogs named Lolita and Tiffee and across from a woman with the pinkest hair I've ever seen. We had pasta and bread and wine and coffee... the usual delicious culprits all made more special by the company of family.



Another famous site in town is the forty-four meter Torre Guinigi with trees growing from its top. It offers picturesque views of Lucca and a surreal feeling, standing high above the ground but still under the shade of trees.



It also offers a perspective on the town that at least one entrepreneurial communicator has realized. In the sea of red roofs the white chalk stood out. And for us the answer was easy: here, now, together.

ferie means we've gone away

Do not come to Milan in August. Stay wherever you are. Do whatever you do. And please let us visit.

Apparently August is a non-month. It doesn't exist but for vacation. And as August has arrived, the Italians have departed. To lands far from the city. To sea shore and mountains, to fresh air and family. And they have left Milan's dusty, empty streets to us.

We walked around town on Saturday afternoon to assess the damage. We knew this was coming - we'd been warned. Friends had promised that there would be nowhere to shop and that you could wander up the center of the street without fear of motor traffic.



Friday was the first casualty of our comfortable life in Milan. Our bar, the place where we stop for a macchiato and brief Italian chit-chat most mornings, was in full last-day-on-the-job swing. The baristas were in hawaiian shirts and the proprietress wore a straw hat usually sported by warbling gondoliers in Venice. The countdown that had started a month earlier had wound down to zero and the popular refrain bandied about was "Buona vacanza!" The bar will not reopen until the end of the month and until then we will have to find our caffeinated solace elsewhere. Ah, the hardships of life in Milan.



Shops are actually closed. As in, gone for a month. Don't try to buy shoes. Or vegetables. Or fancy candles. There has been a rash of simple signs taped to windows and security gates. These signs all read some version of "gone for the month, good luck finding somewhere to buy stuff."

Coming from the US, it was enough of a stumbling block that there are no late night stores in Italy. There's really no Italian version of White Hen or 7-11 and you figure out very quickly that if you're going to have a craving for something, you'd better plan ahead. On more than one occasion a late night desire for chocolate chip cookies has started with a sad hunt of the kitchen cabinets and ended with a bag of breadsticks and some bottled water.



The fact that the Italian business culture is not bound by a drive for commercial excess can be admirable. It leaves more time for family and friends, food and culture. But it also leaves a certain sense of exhaustion and disappointment come August. (Not to mention during lunch break when even some restaurants close for 3 hours in the middle of the day... but let's focus on one cultural highlight at a time.)



There is actually a guide put out by the city of Milan listing which shops/services are open during the month of August. I don't think I need to point out that Milan is a major European city and that the need for a guide showing which few shops are open this month is almost comical. This book is a full-color publication with maps and quadrants and color coding. Apparently someone is taking this situation very seriously. Well, to be accurate, they took it seriously in July. But it's August now and they're away on vacation.

I should mention that if you need postcards or a soccer jersey you will not have a problem. The tourist center is hopping and one may acquire any number of t-shirts with "Italia" written on them. But if you go down to the Duomo close your eyes for a second and listen. Then try to imagine which country you're in. Depending on which tour is passing you could be anywhere. Russia. Japan. America. Well, anywhere except Italy.

So to sum up, Milan is closed. It will return in September. Until then you can find us at the Duomo wearing Last Supper t-shirts and practicing our English.

firenze is florence

Firenze (Florence) is a town crawling with both history and American tourists. And a month ago you could have counted us among the throngs. In fact, the one minor unpleasantry about this gorgeous and enchanting city is that everyone agrees it is just that - and therefore you will never (ever) be in Florence without at least a billion of your closest friends.

There is a positive side to these numbers: if you're in Italy and just want someone to understand you, just want to hear that comforting American accent in a country far from your own, simply step into the streets of Florence, grab the next passerby, and have them start to speak. You will most certainly have before you a compatriot. (And if not, truth is, many Europeans speak English with aplomb and in a tourist center like Florence you'd be hard-pressed to find someone who doesn't speak at least a little English.)

In Milan there just isn't the same tourist influx. In fact there's actually quite the opposite. Milan empties of its residents nearly every weekend as they seek finer climes and greener pastures. So not only are there far fewer tourists, there are fewer people in general. For an urban center the lack of people trolling Milan's streets on a Sunday afternoon would surprise you. And don't even get me started on the surreal experience that is August in Milan.



Truth is, Milan doesn't have the infinite historical glories of Florence. It's not wall-to-wall art and centuries-old masterworks showcased in a historical playground untouched by war. Florence is all of these things.

The Duomo is a towering extravaganza of pink and green marble, outfitted with buckets of ornate sculpture and an interior filled with fresco. There's also the unique opportunity to climb up into the dome and emerge at the top, looking out onto one of the best views in town.

There are several hundred steps up to the top of the dome and the route is neither for the weary nor those unnerved by small enclosed spaces. It is, however, certainly for those individuals who appreciate a healthy bout of profuse sweating.



The amazing thing about the climb is that the path you take is literally between the exterior dome and the painted interior dome that you see from the church floor. You move through a hidden space acting as the human filling in a dome sandwich. It's well worth the climb - not just for the resulting views of the city but also for the experience of walking through a space that few would imagine exists.

As you journey to the top there are two landings where you actually step out into the dome inside the church. You move along a balcony of sorts and then duck back into the internal passage. But being at that height, and being that close to the frescoed ceiling, is something to savor. These immense and haunting images that are usually seen from the church's floor, and were painted to best be viewed from that vantage point, are in close proximity even more disturbing and visceral. All I can tell you is that on the way to the eternal inferno I don't recommend going anywhere near the giant frog wielding a flaming poker -- because you won't like what he's going to do with it.



Not every Florentine masterpiece requires a steep climb. The David is on display at ground level and is a wondrous giant standing at the end of a long gallery. The most famous nude in the world is bathed in diffuse white light and is shockingly smooth and detailed.

I couldn't carve a blob of mashed potatoes into a snowball let alone take a giant chunk of marble and turn it into a beautiful man. But Michelangelo, that miracle maker and undoubtable genius, came along and took a heft of mountain and created a figure that glows with life and strength. There are geniuses and then there are the rest of us - and it's painfully easy to recognize which side you're on as you stand gazing up at this masterpiece.

Here's to the rest of us!

definitely not skim

While wandering around Mantova yesterday - this was after our 2 hour train ride became a surprise 2.5 hour combination train AND bus ride without notice - we did our best not to be run over by the locals. They are fiends for bicycles and can't seem to get enough of them on the streets. All at once. The other product for which they are ecstatically gung-ho is apparently fresh milk. Yes, fresh milk. So much so, in fact, that they have a machine in the center of town that dispenses fresh milk whenever one desires.

This milk comes straight from the source, with very little time between milking and vending. It has neither been pasteurized nor anywhere near the technology that turns virgin milk into its skinnier cousins "skim" and "low fat." We happened to meet the farmer who runs this tiny operation and he explained something about being sure that the cow is very clean as it's milked. It's one of those ideas that you don't want to think about too hard or you'll stop wanting to try the very fresh milk.



The very nice, hearty farmer said that he fills up the machine several times a day and that farming has been in his family for a very long time. He also told us how large his farm is but the combination of the Italian language and my complete lack of clarity when it comes to European measures of distance has left me with only the understanding that it is a sizeable farm. Maybe a big size. Maybe a medium. But it is definitely a size.



Apparently he's had the machine set up for a little under a year and of late he's been averaging 100 bottles sold daily. He also said that at night when people are buying milk after a fun night on the town, sometimes he'll hang around the machine and offer the addition of mint to the milk. He highly recommended this flavor combination and mentioned that he also has big plans for the Christmas season.

The process for procuring your very own bottle of fresh milk is very simple. First, you put euro 20 cents in the machine that vends the clear plastic bottles. There's a sign on the machine saying you shouldn't reuse the bottles and so it seems you have to do this every time you come to the milk machine.



You then put 1 euro into the milk machine itself and place the empty plastic bottle under the interior spigot. The farmer said its best to tilt it like you would a beer in order to avoid problems with the foamy head. There was also a sign with a graphic indicating the same suggestion.



And then you're done! After filling up the bottle you have yourself a heaping helping of fresh creamy milk. It was sweet and delicious and not too heavy, and refreshingly cold on a hot summer day. It didn't hurt that there's a pastry shop across the street where you can find sweet local specialties. And what good is a creamy bottle of fresh cold milk without a couple of local specialties to go along with it?