get thee to alba

Alba is stuffed to the gills with the best this country has to offer and Alba's Truffle Festival is truly one of the finest activities to take place in all of Italy. You eat and drink your way through the exhibit hall and if you're anything like us you'll wander out with shopping bags full of terribly delicious things you've purchased along the way. It's decadent and luxurious, and all for the gentle cost of 6 euro (1 euro entry fee + 5 euro for a wine glass to fill up as you wander through the festival).

We went to the truffle festival last year and were amazed. It was our introduction to the pungent world of truffles and we came out with a newfound passion and appreciation for the strange and furtive fungus. We were worried that the wonder and joy of last year's festival might not be matched a second time around.



But we shouldn't have worried. This year was just as good as last, if not better.

In fact, our hotel was a whole lot better due 100% to Stefano's foresight and planning. Last year we threw a plan together at the last minute and were extremely lucky to even find an available room with a bed - bathroom down the hall be damned.

This year we realized that the hotel where we had a room (with bathroom!) was actually owned by our favorite Alba pasticceria, which also happens to be one of the best pasticcerias in all of Italy. It's downstairs from the hotel and just guess where the hotel's guests enjoy their breakfast... Oh, yes... that's right. Hotel guests go right downstairs for the best pastries, cakes and coffees in Italy.



There is also, across from one of our favorite Alba gastronomias, one of the finest gelaterias in Italy. We feel confident in this assessment as we eat a lot of gelato and we eat it all over Italy. This gelato is some of the creamiest and most flavorful that we've had - and its prices are right on par with normal. You don't need to be "fancy" to serve great gelato - you just need to serve great gelato. And this place does.

We ate dinner in a great restaurant again due to Stefano's long range planning. He found a renowned slow food restaurant that despite being very warm and filled with German tourists, had great food. We ate what seemed like handfuls of truffles atop our plates. Thankfully they were of the black, and less costly, variety as this year prices for white truffles have skyrocketed into the stratosphere and left our price range long ago.



Earlier in the day there was also a human tower in the main piazza. Yep, there was a human tower made entirely of people in green shirts that had apparently come from Spain. We were informed of their provenance when we asked a shopkeeper why a lot of people in green shirts were amassing in the piazza. The woman answered matter-of-factly that it was because they were from Spain. As if that answered our question.

In fact, this group had trained in Spain, was made up of Italians, and was executing human towers based on Spanish techniques and traditions. There was even a small child who would climb up the human towers to perch at the top; the towers were so high that she wore a helmet.



A grouping of vintage automobiles also happened to have formed while we were taking a walk around town. Our timing was perfect as we had just long enough to wander through the cars admiring age-old attention to detail and fine craftsmanship before they lined up to chug away. It was in a cloud of gasoline fumes and gears failing to catch that we watched the vintage parade tool off into the distance. Had we taken fifteen more minutes admiring the human tower we might have missed the show.

But at this point the auto show and the human pyramids were cherries on top of an already great weekend. After all, we were in Alba - wandering in the land of truffles, fine cheeses, and full-bodied red wines. And while I don't generally dive into wine before noon you can't help yourself at the truffle fest. It's the same logic you use to eat all the chocolate, cheese, truffle butter, truffle pasta, and hazelnut cake samples that you can.



On Sunday before catching our string of three (3!) trains back home to Milano we stopped in a fresh pasta shop where piles of pasta were laid out in the display cases. The kind women behind the counter pile it, by weight, into paper packages for you to take home and feast upon.

We left with two packages: one with small little pasta sacks filled with fonduta and another with the same style of pasta filled with black truffles. The prices were great, the pasta was incredible, and the advice of the pasta ladies was right on target. (They made sure we didn't take gnocchi on the long train ride home -- it wouldn't have held its form -- and told us exactly how long to leave our pasta in boiling water.)

Before making it home to cook our pasta we met a truffle hunter on the train. (By chance he happens to be the man on the far right in the first photo.) He was headed to a friend's daughter's wedding lunch and was more concerned that Stefano and I eventually have children than about sharing his truffle secrets. However, he did tell us that this year has not been a bountiful one for truffles and that he likes to hunt for them from about 6-10:00am in the morning. Every morning.



My question of what would happen if a truffle-hunting dog wandered into the exhibit hall of the truffle fest - would he go mad with the overwhelming smell of truffles? - was met with laughter. But he was very serious when he hopped off the train and uttered his parting words. He told us we had to find time to "comprare" children. We assume this is a colloquial phrase and does not literally mean we should find some time to purchase children. At least we hope not.

We, too, have some advice to share: if you have the time, the inclination, and the space in your stomach you must visit the Alba truffle festival at least once in your life. It's been one of our best finds in all of Italy. And we didn't need a truffle dog to point that out.

Recommendations
Hotel: Albergo San Lorenzo - tel: 0173.362406
Pasticceria: Golosi di Salute - tel: 0173.442983
Fresh pasta: Corino - tel: 0173.440272
Gelateria: Sacchero Gelato e Cioccolato - Via Vitt. Emanuele 32
Ristorante: Osteria dell'Arco - tel: 0173.363974

the grass is always greener

It's relatively easy to settle into a city. You begin to adopt its norms. To accustom yourself to its standards. And to wean yourself of the little things that used to be so normal for you.

But then, you break free and get on a cheap flight to Krakow. And nothing is the same.

You feel like an alien who has landed on an unknown planet. You walk around pointing and admiring and wondering why isn't it like this where I live?



Did you know Krakow has coffee shops where you can order all sorts of flavored coffee drinks and get them "to go?" Or you can sit on a sofa and stay there, chatting with whomever you've brought along.

Have you heard that in Krakow there are substantially-sized people walking the streets and that they don't all wear stiletto heels? I'd swear I actually saw several women wearing flats.

Were you aware that in Krakow for less than 50 American cents you can buy a local snack - a delicious bagel-like round of seasoned bread - off of any street corner and join the rest of Poland walking around, enjoying the crisp fall weather and eating your own round of bread.



And let's not even talk about the mall.

Italy is a fabulous place but there is not really coffee to go, there are always stilettos, and there will never be a decent snack available on the street, let alone for under 2 dollars. Krakow has all of these things and more.

Krakow is as charmingly "European" as any European city we've visited. The presence of Jagiellonian University means it's filled with a youthful energy and intellect. The large piazza at the center of the old town is surrounded with historic buildings, sculpture, and churches. There's incredible food to be had, gorgeous tree-filled parks to enjoy, and a rich culture and history to explore.



In Krakow we ate very well for very little. Large steaming bowls of red borscht with potatoes. Pierogi stuffed with mushrooms and saurkraut. Horseradish-covered roast meats. Dumplings and polish sausage and soft cherry-laden cakes.

We ate in a small milk bar packed with people digging into their meals with elbows set firmly on the tables. Shared a picnic table during the University street festival and drank hot wine with our food. Ate kebabs on the street and found a vegetarian restaurant with great enchiladas and falafel.



We visited Wawel Hill which is historically important for all of Poland and also the source of a popular legend describing the vanquishing of Krakow's dragon. There are the royal apartments, a historic cathedral, a perilous bell tower (although not as perilous as Bologna's), several museums and what is said to be a dragon's cave.

St. Mary's Church, in the main plaza, is beautiful and we were lucky to catch the hourly bugle call on several occasions. Issuing from the cathedral's tower the call goes on for several bars before it stops mid-note and the horn disappears quickly into the tower.



Everything was going so well. So smoothly. Until our return flight when we were schooled in the equation of fog + budget airline = you're not going anywhere. So while we can say honestly that we love Krakow we cannot say that a 6 hour delay in the Krakow airport is any great joy. Even when the airline gives you a free salami and butter sandwich.

We made it back to Milan eventually and while tiredly walking to our apartment thought of how great it would be to grab a large coffee to go.

the best tour of Rome

After wine and truffled cheese in a colleague's apartment overlooking the Tiber, plates of saltimbocca and creamy spaghetti carbonara in Trastevere, and another day and night in this ancient and hectic city that makes us both feel like we're swirling in dust and traffic and a million strangers, we got into the cab.

Just a cab in nighttime Rome. Just a ride back to the hotel. Until I asked the cab driver what was playing on the radio. And the cab driver asked me if I liked it... If I thought it was really music... And if I wanted to hear something better.

He turned instead to opera and the taxi was engulfed in waves of deep tenor. The driver turned up the volume on cresting passion and melodic despair. The windows were down and Rome was blurring past. The night air was still warm from an unseasonable October day and the music filled our breezy space.

We passed bridges and monuments edged with golden light. And the Museo dell'Ara Pacis with its lines of postured ladies in red dresses standing tall in the dark. So dramatic these ladies. So perfect as our opera roared past.

I had to go back to them the next night. To see them in their glory. And it was certainly glorious: the Valentino exhibit and the dresses lined up like an army of good taste marching into the distance.

But it was far better the night before. When we saw it from the outside with the opera soaring and the cab driver yelling, insisting, with his thick Roman accent that this was music. That this was real music and didn't we agree?

Si, si, certo. Now can we stay in your cab forever?

four tables

There's a tiny, four-table restaurant hiding behind a salumeria/gastronomia in Modena. You wouldn't know it's there without insider info or the right restaurant guide pointing a thumbs-up in its direction. In fact, one of the couples who dined with us had only just found out about the place - and they were 40-somethings who had lived in Modena their entire lives.

Hosteria Giusti only serves lunch and this lunch service is book-ended by the normal coming's and going's of the gastronomia out front. With this set-up, a Saturday lunch reservation is not easy to come by. In fact, Stefano called the restaurant in June and the first available Saturday lunch was on September 29. Nearly a four month wait.



Modena is a fine town with what we've heard is a remarkable Duomo. Unfortunately, we didn't get to see the façade of the Duomo as it was covered by scaffolding. This was hardly a shock as in our experience, at any given time, one third of Italy is hidden behind scaffolding. The best part is that a project timeline is usually affixed to the scaffolding and the "Completion Date" of the project is generally a healthy six months past...at minimum. Ah, Italy - such unrelenting dedication to improvement and advancement.



But back to the restaurant that brought us to Modena. Getting to the dining room was an Alice in Wonderland voyage through a very small door in the back of the gastronomia. We followed incredible scents through a passageway that deposited us in a very small dining room. And yes, there were literally four tables.

If you've had the luxury of dining in Italy before, this place is not the be-all-end-all of Italian cuisine. Although, the "Millefoglie di melanzane fritte, lardo e fois gras d'oie" antipasto comes pretty darn close. Consisting of lightly fried eggplant layered with fois gras and lardo, it was a screamer. The kind of food where you can't stop making noise as you chew, taste, and devour it. So amazing, and so difficult to start with because everything else will inevitably pale by comparison. That said, I think I would make the 1.5 hour journey to Modena just to have another.



As I was saying the food is good - definitely good - but the atmosphere is stellar. You feel as if you've been invited to dine in someone's private home. It's this intimacy that flavors the meal and gives it a solid lead above the rest.

The balsamic vinegar is also an eye-opener. For dessert we had syrupy balsamic vinegar drizzled over fior di latte gelato. That combination did a lot to explain in a single spoonful what the glories of a good 40-year old balsamic can do. It is sweet and savory and surprisingly thick. But good Balsamic is a luxury for most of us, unless tiny 50 euro bottles of vinegar often find their way onto your shopping list.



We had a chance to talk with one of the women who runs the restaurant along with her brother and mother. Her father had started the place, but when he passed away several years ago they forged on ahead. And to hear her tell it, this restaurant is more well-known in the US than in Italy. She told us that there is a cult following of American foodies who plan entire vacations by first making a reservation at the restaurant and then filling in the rest of their itinerary from there.

At our lunch we were the only Americans although everyone there had one thing in common - a celebration. The large group that filled two of the four tables was celebrating a birthday. The Modenese couple who had only recently found out that the restaurant exists was there to celebrate their wedding anniversary. That happened to be our celebration as well.



Another enjoyable element beyond the eating was the private shopping post-lunch. We made our way back through Alice's passage and into the quiet shop, which was closed for the lunch break. The prosciutti were hanging, the balsamics were lined up, and we had the small pungent place to ourselves. It was a heady experience - to quickly scour the shelves for which gastronomic delights would accompany us home. Our bag was not light when we left and grew heavier when the woman threw in a fizzy Lambrusco as an anniversary gift.



As reasons to visit a town go, who's to say that a restaurant is a less legitimate draw than a castle or a church? For us, eating is the kind of tourism that we come to naturally, and that we enjoy the most. So go to Modena just for lunch.

Just remember to book ahead. Because while you can count on finding scaffolding in any Italian city, an empty seat in a four table restaurant is a little harder to come by.

(You can find Hosteria Giusti at Vicolo Squallore 46, behind Salumeria Giuseppe Giusti. Phone: 059.222533)

g é per la gorgonzola

It never dawned on us that Gorgonzola is a short 18 stops away on the subway. And when I say "gorgonzola," I mean gorgonzola with a capital "G." The actual town.

We discovered our proximity to Gorgonzola last Sunday after a colleague recommended the Sagra della Gorgonzola - a festival celebrating the world-famous cheese made in this sleepy little town.

Real gorgonzola cheese is as fresh and clear-tasting as a glass of milk. Sweet cream dotted by punches by flavor. It's hardly the pungent and aggressive flavor that we Americans have been trained to expect.



We ate a lot of gorgonzola on Sunday; with spicy sweet mostarda, hunks of bread, salumi, even dark chocolate. We enjoyed these excellent combinations while sitting on the curb with a lady who enjoys chocolate more than most. And now she's enjoyed it with a touch of gorgonzola - in Gorgonzola, of all places.

G é per la gorgonzola.

under the arches

When people talk about Bologna, they'll inevitably go on and on about the meat sauce or the mortadella, but I've never heard anyone go on and on about the porticos that go on and on. In fact, we've been to Bologna before but we still didn't know that Bologna owns the distinct honor of possessing the world's longest portico.

The world's longest portico, you say... What does that look like? Well, at first it looks like a nice short walk underneath a series of pretty arches. And then it starts to look like a medium length walk that's getting steeper and steeper. And by the end it looks like a never-ending walk that you're determined to finish because you've come this far and like hell you're going to stop now.

I guess the amateur athletes passing us along the way could've clued us in to the length and incline of the trek. Or maybe even the folks who were on a pilgrimage, singing religious hymns as they slowly crept along. But for us the walk had just seemed like a good idea after lunch. 666 arches later, with sweaty brows and a view of the outlying hills, we were just happy to be done.

We didn't know at the time that we'd just experienced the world's longest portico. But subsequent web research tells us that we visited the Santuario della Madonna di San Luca at the top of Guardia hill which one reaches after a 3.5 kilometer walk under 666 arches. Not bad for an after-lunch stroll.



Our lunch was at a small trattoria right at the start of the portico. It's approximately four kilometers out of the city center and we took a bus with the rest of the locals fleeing town for the lunchtime hour. At the trattoria there was no English wafting from nearby tables, and no menu. The waiter simply rattled off what was being served that day.



Stefano and our special guest started with fresh pastas heaped with meat sauces while I had the creamiest tortelloni I've yet found in Italy. Filled with ricotta and tiny bits of parsley, the little packages were topped with butter and a single sage leaf. For secondi I opted for a small bowl of mashed potatos and peas while Stefano and our guest shared what I've heard were delicious veal meatballs.

When I'd asked the waiter if there were any chicken or vegetable secondi, he made it clear that, "We eat meat in Bologna." Well then, I said, I'll eat potatoes and peas. But I did appreciate his directness. It was like earlier that day when I saw an older man stop on his bike right next to one of those "human statues" that wait for your coin before they'll move. The man just sat there and sat there, staring at the motionless guy in gold. It was the best piazza showdown I've seen - and not a word was spoken.



After our post-lunch portico adventure we made our own pilgrimage to the Majani chocolate store in the center of town. We didn't leave until we had a fifty-some euro bag of chocolate in hand. You might scoff, but it's easy to do. Their chocolate is incredible and the store is like an old-fashioned pharmacy except that instead of more standard medicinal formulas they dole out chocolates.

It's the kind of place where restless husbands wait outside while their wives linger over the most difficult of chocolate choices. We saw one doing just that. But not my husband - he is a far wiser man. When it comes to chocolate there's never a good reason to wait outside.



When we'd arrived in town earlier that morning we stopped at a great bar that gives you a tiny shot of fizzy water along with your coffee. It's the same place we'd gone our first time here. And the cappuccini were just as good. Except that this time there was art in the cappuccino foam.



The face and the flower were very impressive but I've got an idea... how about 666 arches?

'tis the season

I'd never seen a gondolier float past my bedroom window. But in Venice, if you check into your room and there's mysterious live music in the distance take a glance out the window. The source of the tune may be gliding past in his striped t-shirt, piloting a gondola full of tourists.

It could be a romantic moment.... what with the dreamy Italian love songs, the weepy accordion, the canal waters undulating past. Unless, of course, you're sharing a room with beloved relatives and between the 3 of you there's not a mattress in the room that doesn't sink sadly to the floor in response to any weight set upon it. And let's refrain from discussing the décor.



For decoration less an affront to the senses there was a unique marble staircase spiraling its way up the courtyard outside of our lodging. We hadn't known of its existence but apparently other tourists come looking for it. And you do need to hunt. It's in a place where once you feel like maybe you shouldn't be wandering around those parts, you know you've landed in just the right spot.

Returning to the matter of the hotel room, it was a lesson in the differences between Italian and American views on air conditioning. In our experience we've learned that many Italians prefer searing heat to the cool draft of air conditioning. We've been on summer trains, sweating, while Italians talked among themselves about their fear of freezing to death - and then piled on the sweaters to prove it.



Our trip to Venice was two weekends ago and when I asked the proprietress of our quarters to furnish us with the air conditioner's remote control so that we could cool the room, she informed me - as if I were an innocent and wayward child - that my poor dear girl, air conditioning season is over.

And that's where we encountered a substantial difference in opinion. I could get over the lack of shampoo in the room. And the saggy sad mattresses. And maybe even the ludicrous bedding combinations. (Have I started talking about the décor?) But I would not be convinced that air conditioning season was done and gone.



As an American I have been trained to think that it is always air conditioning season. Because although I may choose not to use it, I can't help but feel that air conditioning should most always be available. Especially in rooms along slow-moving canals that harbor, without a doubt, mosquitoes the size of hummingbirds.

The lady and I chatted and although she insisted that Italians are done with air conditioning for the year, I convinced her that we Americans were not. Happily, the air conditioner's remote control magically appeared in our room later that afternoon.



That morning we'd made sure to visit our favorite Venetian bar (as in espresso). It's a small place and you end up tripping over locals to enter. But it's wonderful because with the exception of us, nearly every person who enters is greeted by name. It's like Cheers except that instead of "Norm" they're belting out "Mario!" In a city where you are always surrounded by tourists, and you never feel like anything but, it's nice to sneak into a place where you're the only folks from out of town.

We also stopped by our favorite place for snacks. There you have to elbow your way up to the guy dishing-out plates of miniature antipasti from a crowded display window. And once you point at enough of the tiny delicacies to fill a plate, you get a few glasses of wine and make your way out to the canal to eat alongside its waters. The regulars seem to keep to the far end of the bar, drinking wine and talking shop.



After appetizers we took a walk to our favorite pizza place - passing a boat laden with colorful produce along the way. When we got there we ordered giant slices of pizza and parked ourselves on a bench. Our view was that of the closing fish market in one direction, and the world's most amorous teenage couple in the other. It was a toss-up over which induced a stronger bout of nausea. Fish scales and tails, or teenage make-out session on nearby bench? Believe me, it was a close call.

We also had a chance to take a great tour of the Palazzo Ducale. Called the Secret Itineraries Tour a guidebook might describe it as an enjoyable romp through prison cells and private passageways. And they'd be right - it's great. Although our visit was plagued by the background noise of Lega Nord supporters shouting into megaphones at a large rally outside. (Lega Nord is a political party that wants Northern Italy to secede from the South. Will my sarcasm show if I say they're "quite charming"?)



It's true that Venice is always full of wanderers, and pausers, and random lingerers. Sometimes you'll be stuck behind an unknown wanderer and be tempted to nudge them along to hurry them through Venice's skinny and crowded passageways. But at other times you'll become the wanderer and stop crowds behind you as you pause to explore some random crack and cranny. But that's the joy of Venice: cracks and crannies.

And gondoliers floating past.

into the heel

Last weekend was a whirlwind run through the heel of Italy. We touched down in Puglia and threw in a touch of Basilicata for good measure. And in our three days we confirmed what you'll hear over and over from all sides... the south is different.

In a way, you just want to say, duh. Of course a part of the country that is 400 miles south of where you live will be different. That's a little something we all learned about called geography -- and what you see out of your train windows is going to be different than what you see out of your train windows up north. Swap your rice paddies for scrubby groves of olive trees. Take your trackside poppies and trade them for gargantuan cactus bursting with fuschia fruit.

Vegetation aside, I'd say the more intriguing comparisons lie in the way standard systems, even though they are "systems," get a little more wiggly down south. For example, trains. Trains have a schedule. They come and go at certain times. A traveler can read posted signs and have access to the basics: the route, the stops, the timing. And, at least up north, you can usually find the train.



In Bari it was like Harry Potter trying to find the train to Hogwarts for the first time. Ours was due to take off from Track 7 very early in the morning. But when we showed up, very early in the morning, there was no Track 7 listed on any of the signs in the train station. Tracks 1-6 were very easy to find, clearly marked from all directions. But Track 7? Not one sign acknowledged its existence.

We eventually asked a train conductor who pointed towards the end of the station, past Track 6. Oh, of course! Down by Track 6! Even though all signs, in the whole station, show only 6 tracks at the station. So we went down past Track 6 and found the ever shy and modest Track 7.

It may sound silly but I assure you - in the nearly one and a half years we've spent in Italy, there has never been a train track we couldn't find. Because every train track has been labeled. If I were feeling bold I might even call it a "system," and I might even assert that this "system" is used worldwide to help people find their trains.



Other local diversions? How about playing "Unannounced Train Change?" This is where you have to get off of your train at a random station in the middle of nowhere and switch to another train simply because the train conductor told you to.

There's also a fun one we'll call "Quick, Get in the Other Car!" The goal of this little game is to be sure you're seated in a train car that will actually be leaving the station. Mind you, the number of cars actually attached to the locomotive changes along the way. To his credit the train conductor seems to have an eye on this and does an adequate amount of shooing folks into the right cars- otherwise we might still be sitting in an empty railcar in Puglia, waiting for the engine to come back and get us.

We spent a fair amount of time on the trains after our initial flight down to Bari due to our frenetic travel plans. In the span of three days we visited not only Bari, but also Matera, Lecce and Alberobello. Each has its own set of highlights and two of the four are designated UNESCO World Heritage Sites. Bari is a hectic grid of seaside commotion worth experiencing but we spent most of our time in the other towns.



Matera is known for its sassi. These are basic homes, clustered together, that have been carved out of the rocky terrain on which they congregate. These rock-hewn beehives are several thousand years old - the newest boasting a ripe young age of 1000. The big surprise comes with the realization that families were still living in these places until 1952 when the Italian government declared the sassi unsafe. The families were living without electricity or running water, but with their livestock. It wasn't a healthy combination.

You can visit the cave-like churches to see their frescoes but the most interesting stop is to one of the sassi that has been returned to its original conditions. You step in and realize that these cave homes can be larger than you'd expect - in this specific case, the rooms drop several levels into the earth. There was a space for the family, a space for the livestock, and a space for the provisions: the proximity of the three does much to explain how the space could be deemed unhealthy.

Wandering through the labyrinthine pathways you feel the sense of dusty abandonment that comes with towns that lack their inhabitants. But you also feel the sun beating on you - there's no shade - and the confusion that comes with wandering in a sun-bleached ghost town with no real streets or clear landmarks. I'm surprised that the film crews who have shot here, taking advantage of the biblical era scenary, have actually been able to find their way out.



We managed to find an exceptional lunch in the more modern and populated part of town. At Il Cantuccio (Via delle Beccherie) we had an antipasto sampler featuring incredible eggplant caponata, crispy peppers, zucchini with vinegar and fennel, and several other delicious little creations. My main dish was a very interesting flat & wide pasta served atop black bean puree, with hints of red pepper. Truly something we had never seen in Italy before. And so good.



Another highlight of Matera was the crafty wedding announcements that were stuck to every available surface. These xerox'd sheets announced weddings that were happening around town and touted the undying love of the happy couples. While some of these announcements featured photos of the couple canoodling, the serious artists of Matera used what I'm sure we can all agree is the worldwide symbol of everlasting love: poodles.



Lecce, down deep in the heel of Italy's boot, is a much larger town with a more sophisticated allure and a plethora of Baroque architecture. The churches are covered with opulent designs, there are Roman ruins in the town center and walking down the streets has a rather formalized air, especially with Lecce's stranglehold on the concept of the siesta. It's a ghost town for most of the afternoon; nearly everything closes and most everyone disappears. We were forced to follow suit and hole up in our hotel for a nap.



But in the early evening the town pours into the streets from every direction and takes to the passeggiata like true professionals. We had read about the mythical passeggiatta here but didn't believe it until we saw it. There was a remarkably steady flow of people languidly wandering down the streets. Except that they weren't wandering, they were following the same path as everyone else. Miraculous.



Lecce also has one of the finest pastry shops we've encountered in country. Natale Pasticceria on Via Trinchese had far too many choices but we did our best. We each picked a crème-filled giant and were amazed not only by the taste (a hallelujah moment) but also the price (1.50 each - hallelujah again). The fact that one of us ended-up covered in chocolate icing, and needed a water fountain to de-stick their sticky fingers, actually brought us to a gorgeous park filled with families where we enjoyed the Sunday festivities. Who knew pastries could be such amicable tour guides?



Alberobello is where the trulli are. Trulli are white conical homes that dot the countryside in this region. You see them start to pop up among the olive trees as your train nears town. These homes from the 17th century are supposedly designed to trick the tax collectors by resembling spaces used to house livestock and provisions - rather than the families who were actually living there. They're topped with stone ornaments of varying complexity and often have symbols whitewashed onto their conical roofs.



These structures are certainly unique and charming but be forewarned - they're also smack in the middle of a never-ending patch of sun and overrun by tourists. There are about 1500 of these small homes in Alberobello although a much smaller number of them are actually occupied by residents. You can, however, buy any number of souvenirs and knicknacks in them, and also find a pretty good cappucino.

In addition to the trulli, Alberobello has one of the best restaurants in Italy. It's called La Cantina (Vico Lippolis) and is, unsurprisingly, in what might be referred to as the basement. It's a small space with about 10 tables and at one end of the room is the kitchen. You watch the ingredients turn into your meal and it's absolutely wonderful.



We had an antipasto featuring a vast array of small plates with delicious foods - and they kept coming while we ate. Three kinds of salame, three kinds of cheese (including burrata the legendary cheese filled with cheese!), zucchini in oil, roast potatoes, tripe, focaccia, stuffed focaccia... and more. It was like a Christmas stocking where you keep finding things even though you thought you'd already found it all.



For our main plates we each ordered a fresh pasta complemented with the freshest of produce and cheeses. You can taste the difference at this place. It is not the norm and the standards far exceed what is normally great cooking across this country. Hand in hand, though, are the prices which are higher than usual for a lunch. Is it worth it, you ask? How fast can I say, "Hell yes! Go there now!"



Our trip was a great use of a long weekend. Although let me add a brief warning to anyone considering flying back up North at the start of September: don't do it. It seems to be prime time for families returning after their August vacations. Our plane was a flying, screaming kindergarten. We have never seen so many children on one plane and I think we can all agree that when one checks in at the airport they are not hoping for a seatmate who screams and refuses to sit still.

If only the airplanes were as hidden as the trains...

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...