anyone there?

Sabionetta is a town not about its people but rather about its structure. Like a chandelier without the candles, lacking life but still somehow beautiful... You feel alone in this place. You look for tumbleweeds. You wonder where everyone could have gone.

Sabionetta is the fantastical city plan of a member of the Gonzaga clan and it smacks of noble glory. He chose this location in the middle of the countryside and built up a walled city replete with villas and theaters. But once the urban architect's time had faded the locals headed back out to the fields, leaving the glory to the empty buildings and getting back to work.



What's left now are those very buildings and a few places to eat and drink. During our lunch along the edge of the deserted piazza we were treated to a drunken serenade by one of the remaining townsmen. After belting out more than a few dog-eared verse he tottered off to find his bike. We were happily surprised to see that his balance had not been affected by the copious amounts of liquor that had emboldened his stage performance - and he rode a straight line into the distance.



There were dogs in the palazzo and elephants in the sitting room. The dogs were real, the elephants were painted on the wall. I don't know which we found more amusing. One never really tires of the Italian love affair with dogs and their need to take them everywhere.



We had taken the bus to and from Sabionetta and while it was damn hot on the bus we were very lucky with our timing. We were also very lucky that before leaving Mantova that morning Stefano had checked in at the station to be sure we had the right bus info. We didn't.

Seems that the tourist info office in Mantova is a a bit confused while the woman at the bus/train station is not. If you go to Mantova, trust her. If the bus comes early she'll also run out of the station yelling at the bus driver to wait for the people she'd talked to earlier. And while we're convinced the bus driver couldn't have cared less, the effort of the woman was well beyond our Italian customer service expectations. And when I say "well beyond" I mean that she should get some sort of national service award. Because Italians just don't care that much.

Unless you're talking about dogs. Then they care a lot.

members only

We were surprised to find out that Mantova has canals. We hadn't noticed them the last time. Then again, last time we were only passing through on a day trip instead of staying the weekend. This time we had the chance to see more, eat more, and explore more. And kill more mosquitoes in one hotel room than one would think possible.

As they most often do, our formidable discoveries involved food. Food that you've never had; foods you didn't know existed; and foods you really shouldn't be eating in the first place. No, really. We shouldn't have been in the private workers club eating lunch. They told us so, but then let us in anyway.



Apparently, the club could have been fined several thousand euro for allowing non-members to enjoy their delicious lunch. We certainly stood out when we walked into a dining room that until our conspicuous entry had been populated by what were clearly workers on their lunch break. Grown men sitting at tables, eating and not really talking. Looking up to stare at the strangers.

Eventually conversation took hold and the dining room got noisy; women and desserts joined the tables; café was ordered. We had a great meal in a place we hadn't expected. It's a fresh sensation to be somewhere and know for a fact that you're the only strangers. That you are the fly in their honey. And that they welcome you anyway.

One of Mantova's specialties, among many, is mostarda. Mostarda is a syrupy chutney-like sauce comprised of mustard-infused candied fruit. It's the perfect accompaniment to strong cheeses and boiled meats. And one of the unique features of Mantovan mostarda is that theirs is generally made with one type of fruit rather than the standard mixed variety. Thus, an apple variety, a squash version, a cherry one and so on.



We came to a small salumeria owned by a man named Giovanni who told us that his whole life has been lived in a salumeria. His commitment is obvious in his shop. The walls are lined with large containers of mostarda of every variety, salami hang in the window and cheese is laid out en masse. The mostarda is the real highlight - a spicy apple variety being the perfect highlight to a nice strong cheese. Especially when it's served by Giovanni himself on a sheet of wax paper with a toothpick to keep it all together.



But back to the things some of us won't eat. And some of us will. Horse. I won't name names but certain people in our party were very happy with their traditional Mantovan cuisine featuring horse. Others of us, adventurous enough to dare more than one spoonful of the restaurant's searing hot mostarda, did not indulge. Regardless, the restaurant itself and our seats outside among Italian families and friends, gave us all a great Saturday night.

The walk back to the hotel after dinner was a late spring treat - thick jasmine clouds hung over the sidewalk and bicycles whizzed here and there. Families rode to gelaterias filled with what must have been half of the town, spilling out on to the streets, eating their cones in a jumbled group. I held hands with my dinner date - and it wasn't Stefano. He was busy talking with our favorite Texan.



Mantova is a really great place. The food is excellent, the people are nice, and the bicycles never stop riding by. I could live there. Really. But I don't think I'm budging on the horse issue. I'll stick to private clubs and mostarda for my Mantovan thrills.

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?