HI, all!!
Anna, my British friend, this one's for you! I miss you!
I'm so sorry that I didn't finish the final trip update! The quick, quick version is that I went to Paris; saw Jean-Claude and Marie-Claude (which was absolutely delightful); went to Le Mans and visited Danielle Galloyer (one of my favorite people of all-time and an old French friend); and then flew home. I hate to say it, but I had the first horrible Parisian experience of my life. I have been something of a francophile and have always fiercely defended the Parisians and the French at large when those of other nationalities have criticized them for rudeness or giving them the "cold shoulder." First of all, that is not very French at all--they are a delightful, warm people; you've just got to know how to unlock the mysterious puzzle of social formality. It takes a while to make a French friend, but once you've made one, you have a friend for life. It's sealed. The French are beautiful people--Parisians can be somewhat questionable, I'll grant those critics--but the true French people of outside Paris? Wonderful. And I'd always thought (and experienced, truth be told) that if you know the language and some cultural cues, you can unlock the heart of the stoniest Parisian and thoroughly enjoy any sojourn in Paris.
I hate to say it, but I no longer defend the Parisians. This time when I was in Paris, I was traveling alone and much more cognizant of my surroundings and how people interacted around me. There was no travel companion to watch my bags when I ran somewhere, or help me carry things, or to help with the myriad details of travel. No biggie--so it makes life a little more time-consuming, but when you're traveling alone, time is all you've got! So I tried to settle into my rhythm of taking care of all the details patiently and alone, really just enjoying the time to tool around a beautiful city with no plans in particular. Note that when I travel alone, I make an effort to dress conservatively and wear nothing that is in any way revealing. I just don't want to call attention to my single femininity when I'm traveling alone. Being alone can invite unwanted attention, and I wanted to minimize that aspect of it as much as possible. Note also that my large eyes, dark tan, brown hair, and Middle Eastern background all culminated to make me appear distinctively Arab-Caucasian in Paris.
On seven different occasions (SEVEN!), I was approached and propositioned by older Arab men. My appearance and demeanor, I reasoned, must be sending some sort of cultural message in Middle Eastern terms that I was looking for companionship, or that I was something of an object. I was beyond affronted--I moved between livid, intimidated, somewhat nervous, and frustrated--what on EARTH was up? What could I POSSIBLY be doing to invite this? I wasn't smiling at people; I wasn't making eye contact; I wasn't doing anything but walking alone in nice areas--Tuileries, Louvre, Rive Gauche. But this was a special cultural circumstance, I decided, and most certainly not a reflection on Parisians. These were immigrants mistaking me for something I was not.
And then we came to the Parisians. On so many occasions I needed help--even someone in a restaurant to call me a taxi, when I was carrying heavy bags and late for my hotel--and people who are supposed to do those sorts of things (restauranteurs, etc.) were singularly unhelpful, and bordering on amused by my predicament. For example, when I realized that I may be late for hotel check-out, I had Danielle phone the hotel to ask if they would charge extra. "Oh, no," they replied, " the hotel isn't full. Just come back whenever." So when I came in later, after a very difficult day, the hotelier was angry and managed to charge me 100 euros extra--a whole other night!!--for being a few hours late to check-out, all this after I'd expressly been given permission. I spoke French. I knew the culture. And still they were right b@st@rds.
I was angry enough to go to my room and cry and camp out there long enough to make SURE that they wouldn't be able to prepare the room in time in case someone else wanted it for the night. I paid for it; they were NOT going to profit twice from taking advantage of me. No, sir. I was too tired and frustrated to make a huge scene and refuse to pay. I did argue over the bill, but the hotel clerk and the manager threw a bewildering barrage of French at me... and honestly, I just wanted to get out of there and go home.
The French outside Paris were beyond wonderful--Danielle even wrote a nasty letter to the hotel and called them, and even the Parisian taxi cab driver who took me to the airport was super nice. But truly--my patience for Parisians in general has worn thin. After years of giving them the benefit of the doubt and taking it upon myself to try to "unlock" them and--what's more--to defend them to critics, I abandon ship. If people think Parisians are nasty--well, it's just up to the Parisians to change their minds. I'm done with them. I'm joining the ranks of the critics. I kind of feel, in an odd sense, like the Parisians have betrayed me--I fought for them for so long! But to hell with it. Screw 'em. Give me the rest of France and the rest of the world--I've had it with Paris. You can't even find decent (remotely affordable) food there anymore, it's become such a tourist trap. So that's it for me and Paris! Pity the shopping's so good, though. ... well, maybe I can hold my breath and run through long enough to go to Galleries Lafayette, Zara and Mango...
Well, I got home and started work! I really love my job. I mean, a lot more than I thought I would. It's interesting, engaging, challenging, rewarding, and the people are so supportive and straightforward. I really like working as a real associate as opposed to a summer, because (1) I'm no longer on a job interview, and (2) I'm not being doted on. I'm really loving it! I love being settled--the continuity of existence, not broken up into semesters and exams and finite units that start and stop on a schedule. There's no rush to this existence--work is work, and it will (hopefully?) be there forever. It will ebb and flow, but I have a routine and a place that will be mine for (hopefully) a long time. I love the rhythm of it. It's peaceful, comfortable, and it feels like the race of "study so you can get good grades so you can get a job so you can..." is over. I've got the job and I like it. If any of that changes, we'll deal with it when it arises. For now, I'm quite a happy camper.
My birthday is coming up next week, and the girls from work and I are going to dinner. I'm also going to my parents' lakehouse with some friends. I went to the symphony last night, and I've started going back to yoga. Susie Pup is fabulous. My bed is soft and comfy and I've discovered a great new writer, Tom Holt. I've learned how to make espresso the real Italian way. I love my mom, dad, family and friends. Life is good. : > )
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Paris!
Hi, everyone! I made it to Paris! I have plenty of time for the internet here since I am traveling alone, but it is supremely frustrating: the keyboard is different--many letters are in different places--so I'm typing slowly and between swearwords, which the other folks in the cafe find highly amusing.
Highlights include:
TAXI!! I arrived last night, very tired, at about 8h30 pm. I didn't have time to change currency and ended up in a taxi at 10pm that I couldn't pay for. I was concerned since Parisian taxi drivers are notoriously nasty. To avoid getting chucked out of the taxi, alone in the middle of Paris at 10pm, I decided not to mention the currency thing until we reached my hotel. We chatted--a lively conversation in French--on the way. I started to feel bad, though, since he was warming up and confessed that I had no Euros, only American dollars. He seemed a little irritated at first and then winked at me, telling me it was alright. In addition, when we neared the hotel and found the streets blocked off and police cars everywhere, he stalled the meter and snaked his way through the back streets to get me and my stupid behemoth of a bag as close as possible to the hotel. When we saw the police cars, he winked in that French way and said, "perhaps it is the Da Vinci Code?" since most of its beginnings took place in Paris. I laughed appreciatively-I had made friends with the impossible of impossibles--the Parisian taxi driver in August, late at night, driving an American! I gave him 20 dollars, which he almost refused and gave me too much back in change. What a welcome!
FLOWER BEDS? I walked through the Tuileries Gardens today, a large public park with impressive fountains and landscaped gardens. There aren't really any flowers, but the bushes make fascinating mazes to get lost in. As I walked, I noticed an elderly couple, probably in their eighties, inching along with their walkers. As I heard them speak, they turned out to be British. The woman stopped for a moment, took a critical and bewildered look around, and turned to her husband and said, in beautifully clipped and disappointed British English, "I thought there would be flower beds." I almost died. Hilarious! I immediately thought of you, Mr. Tiller...
I'm currently exploring the Latin Quarter, after visiting the Musée d'Orsay. I love this area, but I am always too excited about it and end up a little disappointed. All the street artists seem to paint the same scene, kind of destroying the point, you know? But it's fun to wander. Soon I'm headed to the best chocolaterie in the WORLD--La maison au chocolat on the Champs-élysées. Then I'll shop some and probably call it a day.
I'm meeting Jean-Claude and Marie-Claude for lunch tomorrow, and then I think I will go to London to visit my friend Katheryn. I want to go to Mont Ste Michel, too, but I'm not sure if I have time. Life is good...
Highlights include:
TAXI!! I arrived last night, very tired, at about 8h30 pm. I didn't have time to change currency and ended up in a taxi at 10pm that I couldn't pay for. I was concerned since Parisian taxi drivers are notoriously nasty. To avoid getting chucked out of the taxi, alone in the middle of Paris at 10pm, I decided not to mention the currency thing until we reached my hotel. We chatted--a lively conversation in French--on the way. I started to feel bad, though, since he was warming up and confessed that I had no Euros, only American dollars. He seemed a little irritated at first and then winked at me, telling me it was alright. In addition, when we neared the hotel and found the streets blocked off and police cars everywhere, he stalled the meter and snaked his way through the back streets to get me and my stupid behemoth of a bag as close as possible to the hotel. When we saw the police cars, he winked in that French way and said, "perhaps it is the Da Vinci Code?" since most of its beginnings took place in Paris. I laughed appreciatively-I had made friends with the impossible of impossibles--the Parisian taxi driver in August, late at night, driving an American! I gave him 20 dollars, which he almost refused and gave me too much back in change. What a welcome!
FLOWER BEDS? I walked through the Tuileries Gardens today, a large public park with impressive fountains and landscaped gardens. There aren't really any flowers, but the bushes make fascinating mazes to get lost in. As I walked, I noticed an elderly couple, probably in their eighties, inching along with their walkers. As I heard them speak, they turned out to be British. The woman stopped for a moment, took a critical and bewildered look around, and turned to her husband and said, in beautifully clipped and disappointed British English, "I thought there would be flower beds." I almost died. Hilarious! I immediately thought of you, Mr. Tiller...
I'm currently exploring the Latin Quarter, after visiting the Musée d'Orsay. I love this area, but I am always too excited about it and end up a little disappointed. All the street artists seem to paint the same scene, kind of destroying the point, you know? But it's fun to wander. Soon I'm headed to the best chocolaterie in the WORLD--La maison au chocolat on the Champs-élysées. Then I'll shop some and probably call it a day.
I'm meeting Jean-Claude and Marie-Claude for lunch tomorrow, and then I think I will go to London to visit my friend Katheryn. I want to go to Mont Ste Michel, too, but I'm not sure if I have time. Life is good...
Friday, August 26, 2005
Farewell to Scandinavia
Well, I'm off to Paris today. Andi and I got back from Sweden last night, and it felt so nice to get back to her home instead of the hotel room. There's just somthing wonderful about a home. We bought some duty-free champagne and chocolates (filled in the center with Remy-Martin... yum...) and enjoyed our train and ferry ride back heartily. We got back to her house around midnight and amused ourselves quite a bit... when you're a little tipsy, Danish is a really hilarious language. So Andi read random newspapers and magazines to me (she now speaks Danish) and we laughed and laughed and laughed and finally fell asleep around two.
Leaving Scandinavia, my impressions are mixed. I don't think I had much of a preconceived notion of what Scandinavia would be like--precise (as in, nothing is ever late, or dirty, etc.), eating a lot of fish, outdoorsy folks, cold weather, and beautiful landscapes. These impressions were all pretty accurate. Trains are so often on time that there is no mechanism for notifying anyone if a train is late--it just doesn't happen. There's simply no need for it. And everyone, EVERYONE speaks English. So that helps.
I was surprised that in order to get authentic food, you have to go to someone's home and have a cooked meal. Scandinavians are very thrifty and just do not eat out unless the food is foreign--kebabs, thai, etc. I was also surprised by how sensual the culture is. Danes and Scandinavians are very comfortable with the sexual side of human nature, and it is very openly and clearly expressed in everyday society. Nothing is lewd or prurient "improper"--it's just that a wider range of the gamete of human emotion is acceptable to express in everyday society, male and female sexuality. How to explain... for example, lyrics in a song by the musician Shakira that is very popular here is not considered racy or sensual; it's just honest--the lyrics say, "Underneath your clothes / there's an endless story/ there's the man I chose; there's my territory/ and all the things I deserve for being such a good girl, honey." There is no catcalling and no inappropriate behavior, but couples are very affectionate in public. Sixteen year-olds openly invite girlfriends or boyfriends to spend the night, and parents are entirely open about this behavior; it's just considered normal. Children are given an inordinate amount of autonomy and freedom, but in this culture--largely of similar values, greatly homogeneous and very compact and small--it's safer than in larger socieites. It's odd--ESPECIALLY with people so young-- but it is a very open existence. People talk about sex and sexuality in normal dinner conversation. It's strange, but very open and honest.
Oop! About to leave for the airport! Paris, here I come.
Leaving Scandinavia, my impressions are mixed. I don't think I had much of a preconceived notion of what Scandinavia would be like--precise (as in, nothing is ever late, or dirty, etc.), eating a lot of fish, outdoorsy folks, cold weather, and beautiful landscapes. These impressions were all pretty accurate. Trains are so often on time that there is no mechanism for notifying anyone if a train is late--it just doesn't happen. There's simply no need for it. And everyone, EVERYONE speaks English. So that helps.
I was surprised that in order to get authentic food, you have to go to someone's home and have a cooked meal. Scandinavians are very thrifty and just do not eat out unless the food is foreign--kebabs, thai, etc. I was also surprised by how sensual the culture is. Danes and Scandinavians are very comfortable with the sexual side of human nature, and it is very openly and clearly expressed in everyday society. Nothing is lewd or prurient "improper"--it's just that a wider range of the gamete of human emotion is acceptable to express in everyday society, male and female sexuality. How to explain... for example, lyrics in a song by the musician Shakira that is very popular here is not considered racy or sensual; it's just honest--the lyrics say, "Underneath your clothes / there's an endless story/ there's the man I chose; there's my territory/ and all the things I deserve for being such a good girl, honey." There is no catcalling and no inappropriate behavior, but couples are very affectionate in public. Sixteen year-olds openly invite girlfriends or boyfriends to spend the night, and parents are entirely open about this behavior; it's just considered normal. Children are given an inordinate amount of autonomy and freedom, but in this culture--largely of similar values, greatly homogeneous and very compact and small--it's safer than in larger socieites. It's odd--ESPECIALLY with people so young-- but it is a very open existence. People talk about sex and sexuality in normal dinner conversation. It's strange, but very open and honest.
Oop! About to leave for the airport! Paris, here I come.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Something is rotten in Denmark
Actually, there´s nothing rotten in Denmark, but there´s plenty of stinky stuff in Sweden... primarily pickled herring and sketchy cheap sushi! Andi and I are in Sweden and enjoying it--except, of course, the food. Since Scandinavians rarely go to restaurants, there´s no way to buy authentic Scandinavian food, so we´ve been eating Thai, Kebabs, and sushi... I´m lobbying for more yummy Thai today.
The landscape is absolutely breathtaking and the air and water are so fresh and clean that it´s truly amazing. The people are so trusting and open--mothers frequently leave their infants in baby strollers outside the grocery store, unattended, while popping in for shopping. It is absolutely and completely safe (of course, there are random violent crimes--a few people remember 3 years ago when there was an armed robbery...!!!).
We are off to Scandinavia´s largest shopping mall today--not such a shameless place to spend a day since it is raining cats and dogs--we wouldn´t be able to see anything touristy or historical, anyway, if we tried. The weather is "chilly" for summer--sixty degrees or so. I´m cold! At first the contrast was nice compared to the sweltering heat in Puglia and the Georgia heat that awaits me back home, but now I´m ready for some good hot weather and sunshine, appropriate for water skiing and a day in the park.
Leslie Buschbom, Andi and I miss you so much! We thought of you yesterday when, to "warm up" we each drank a 50-cl bottle of Bailey´s and wandered around random haunts in Götheborg, stumbling (quite literally) upon botanical gardens and British rock climbers--who incidentally invited us to a party that night, but we didn´t make it. We drink to you! and sometimes excessively. and BTW, Andi told me about the yummy chocolates with whisky in them that she sent to you. She asked if I tasted them and my eyebrows furrowed and I squinted at her. " She didn´t share," was my only comment. You are SO not getting ANY Scandinavian chocolate from me when I get back, so you can just quit hoping. ;) Oh, Andi is reading over my shoulder and just told me it was a wedding present. So you can scratch that last comment--you´re not required to share wedding gifts. But I would have loved. And maybe, just maybe, I´ll bring you back some more. This is a perfect place for Beer Club. Ahh, missing the days...
I´m off to Paris on the 26th and will wander around the city shopping, eating crepes (just for you, Lauren! and yes, I registered the Stephane comment... ;)), and maybe popping to London for the day to see my friend Katheryn, and down to Le Mans another day to visit the city whre I used to live, even though no one is in town and they are all on vacation. I may also go to Mont Ste Michel, a place I always wanted to visit but never made it. I love traveling with friends, but it will be really nice to have 3-4 days alone to think and putz around and just enjoy my own company before teh onslaught of work.
Looking forward to being home soon!
The landscape is absolutely breathtaking and the air and water are so fresh and clean that it´s truly amazing. The people are so trusting and open--mothers frequently leave their infants in baby strollers outside the grocery store, unattended, while popping in for shopping. It is absolutely and completely safe (of course, there are random violent crimes--a few people remember 3 years ago when there was an armed robbery...!!!).
We are off to Scandinavia´s largest shopping mall today--not such a shameless place to spend a day since it is raining cats and dogs--we wouldn´t be able to see anything touristy or historical, anyway, if we tried. The weather is "chilly" for summer--sixty degrees or so. I´m cold! At first the contrast was nice compared to the sweltering heat in Puglia and the Georgia heat that awaits me back home, but now I´m ready for some good hot weather and sunshine, appropriate for water skiing and a day in the park.
Leslie Buschbom, Andi and I miss you so much! We thought of you yesterday when, to "warm up" we each drank a 50-cl bottle of Bailey´s and wandered around random haunts in Götheborg, stumbling (quite literally) upon botanical gardens and British rock climbers--who incidentally invited us to a party that night, but we didn´t make it. We drink to you! and sometimes excessively. and BTW, Andi told me about the yummy chocolates with whisky in them that she sent to you. She asked if I tasted them and my eyebrows furrowed and I squinted at her. " She didn´t share," was my only comment. You are SO not getting ANY Scandinavian chocolate from me when I get back, so you can just quit hoping. ;) Oh, Andi is reading over my shoulder and just told me it was a wedding present. So you can scratch that last comment--you´re not required to share wedding gifts. But I would have loved. And maybe, just maybe, I´ll bring you back some more. This is a perfect place for Beer Club. Ahh, missing the days...
I´m off to Paris on the 26th and will wander around the city shopping, eating crepes (just for you, Lauren! and yes, I registered the Stephane comment... ;)), and maybe popping to London for the day to see my friend Katheryn, and down to Le Mans another day to visit the city whre I used to live, even though no one is in town and they are all on vacation. I may also go to Mont Ste Michel, a place I always wanted to visit but never made it. I love traveling with friends, but it will be really nice to have 3-4 days alone to think and putz around and just enjoy my own company before teh onslaught of work.
Looking forward to being home soon!
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
A day in Como
I spent the next day in Como on the lake with Caterina. When we left Modena, Caterina became quiet and a little withdrawn. She buried her nose in a book and explained at the train station, "I am always a little bit depressed to leave Modena, my friends and family." This is another reason I love her so much! She is loyal and loves her family and friends dearly, and is straightforward enough to pipe up and tell her travel companion why she's a little withdrawn. I had guessed that's what it was, but I was glad to hear it all the same.
We arrived in Como that evening and took a taxi to her home. Cate studies in Milan but works in Como, so she bought an apartment in Como--Milan is exponentially more expensive and Como is exponentially more beautiful! She lives in a little top floor apartment in an old apartment building with a courtyard. The buliding is that beautiful signature Tuscan yellow, and everyone has flowers and herbs growing in windowboxes or on balconies. We trekked the 3 flights of stairs up with my 25-kilo bag (stupid, stupid, heavy behemoth of a bag... why, why, why did I pack so much?). We unlocked the door and I stepped in, and I loved it. Staying at Caterina's parents' home in Modena was wonderful--it was comforting to live with a mother and father and the normal goings-on of family life. But Cate's room was that of her childhood and had not changed much from when she was twelve. Her apartment was wonderful--it exuded her personality. There was hard wood, high ceilings, exposed brick walls, and a small but well-stocked kitchen. The ceilings had exposed wooden beams, and since the apartment was on the top of a building, many of the ceilings were slanted, as they were tucked immediately inside the slanting roof. It was cozy and inviting and filled with books, art, quotes, photographs, and sentimental trinkets. I was immediately and completely at home!
That night we boiled some pasta with pesto and lay down on the couches with the intention of watching a little TV or something... we ended up exchanging brain teaser / riddles, talking about board games, friends, family, and faith until 3am! We staggered to bed and slept well.
The next morning we woke up and went in to town. Her apartment is right in the city center, and I envy her easy walking distance to the Como lake and beautiful shops filled with Italian leather, lace, and fresh whipped gelato. We walked around the awe-inspiring lake tucked in the mountains / hills of the region. It was so gorgeous. I now see why George Clooney moved there! We strolled around the lake, looked at villas (many of which were used to shoot Ocean's Twelve, the film), window shopped, and stopped for lunch.
Now, lunch was an adventure. I hadn't eaten much breakfast and neither had Cate, but neither of us were very hungry. We decided to stop for an aperitivo first. Caterina had a flute of prosecco and I was torn between having an alcoholic drink or a LemonSoda--the world's best, fizziest, freshest, tart lemon drink (it even has lemon zest floating in it!). I soon remedied my problem when I ordered a vodka and lemon soda, with a twist of lemon.
And then the games began. I had forgotten how hard alcohol hits me when I've eaten nothing. Cate too, apparently, because after a little while sitting at a cafe on the bank of the Como lake, we were laughing, telling corny jokes, drunk dialing friends in America, and singing songs on the phone to the American friends. We had no intention of drinking much--and in fact, each of us only had one drink--but the rest of the afternoon was quite interesting and fun. At least I'm a happy drunk. Mostly I just told everyone how much I loved them. Good thing is, I mean it! As my drink was stronger than Cate's, I was drunk longer--and consequently, that much more effusive with my drunk-dialed friends. Cate couldn't stop laughing at me, rosy-cheeked, blurry-eyed and declaring my love for and peace with the world at 2 in the afternoon (which, incidentally, was all the more fun for my American call recipients--it was 10am there and I'm sure drunk dials to professional offices at 10am are just that much more amusing). The more effusive I became, the more Cate laughed, "In vino, veritas." In wine, truth. And it IS true-- I'm just that enamored of the people I love, and I'm generally just that happy with my life.
Even though we still weren't hungry--and at least one of us (an American who will go unnamed) voted to just keep drinking and forget all about food-- we did make a heavily Italian-influenced policy decision to get some lunch. Cate and I split a sandwich, and we met one of her friends from Como--ironically, named Caterina--at the cafe. Caterina 2, we will call her. Cate 2 spoke good English but excellent French, so the rest of our meal was spent with Cate 1 and me speaking English; the two Cates speaking Italian; and Cate 2 and I speaking French. It was really fun--and really challenging--to switch languages so rapidly. We got some really great stares from passers-by, who couldn't quite figure out just where we were all from.
Caterina 1 and I went to stroll around Como (and continue to sober up) and Cate 2 ran some errands. Cate 2 invited us to eat at her house with her parents that night, and we gladly accepted. She picked us up outside Como's Duomo (it is fabulously beautiful), and we got in the car to drive a little into the countryside.
The Tucci family lives in a restored 16th century villa that is beyond fabulous. There are vineyards; a 5th century church across from the grounds; an interior courtyard that used to be the marketplace in the 16th century--it was amazing. Cate2's brother, Paolo, was there as were her parents, who are both doctors. Her dad is an OBGYN and used to practice in San Fransisco (but they are all Italian by birth), and her mother is a neo-natal M.D. who also does emergency type work and just received a doctorate in homeopathic medicine. They were the kindest, most fascinating people! Once I got over the grandeur and splendor of the home, I was again immediately at home. We talked and ate until about midnight that night--it felt so nice to be with a family.
One thing that makes me feel so at home with Cate's family and friends is that all of them belong to a particular movement within the Catholic Church, the Communion and Liberation movement. Its emphasis is on experiencing Christ's love through community--spending time together, praying together, and on learning as much, both intellectually and philosophically, as you can about your own faith and other world religions. It is a beautiful balance of spirit and intellect, and questioning is encouraged. Everyone is very real and very warm and inviting, and the Puritanical repression that is so often associated with strong organized religion is markedly absent--of course, we drank wine; we told dirty jokes, even, and just enjoyed ourselves. I am not Catholic and do not profess the same beliefs as does Catholicism, but I have great respect and admiration for this movement and the people I have met who are in it. It is a beautiful thing to see communities of faith--REAL communities--all over the world.
Cate and I finally dragged home sometime after midnight, and the next morning we made a quick dash for the market and gelato before catching a train and bus to the Bergamo airport, where I would fly to Germany and then take a train into Denmark. It is always so hard to say goodbye to Caterina! I am always surprised at how easily we talk and coexist (we shared a room this entire trip), and how deep a friendship has sprung up between us. It is amazing to me that I can live with someone in the States for one semester, have very limited contact with them for several months, and then pick up as though no time has passed at all and spend two weeks in constant contact, with absolutely no tension or friction. We said a very hurried goodbye at the airport--I didn't want to cry. I will see her again soon, though, as she is studying in Baltimore some this fall. I'm lobbying to get her to spend Thanksgiving with us in Vidalia, and if she doesn't go home to Italy for Christmas, she will come to Vidalia. Friends are just magic. As sad as I am that so many of my friends live around the world--L.A., New Jersey, Washington DC, India, Denmark, France, Italy--I am so happy to know such interesting and wonderful people. Plus, I get to go visit!!!!
I took the plane to Hamburg and caught the bus to the train station. On the bus I met a very nice guy--a Swiss / French guy named Walter, who is studying environmental engineering in Germany. He accompanied me to the train station and helped me work out my schedule and ticket. He invited me even to stay with him and go to a French party in Hamburg that night, and catch the train the following morning to Denmark. I declined politely, but I was quite tempted! Europe is exponentially safer--in general personal interaction--than the States. The culture is simply not violent. I'm sure I would have been perfectly safe that night had I stayed, but I am cautious enough to avoid a situation like that as a female traveling alone. It's just not as safe as it needs to be... but it's always fun to think about a random, fun night in Germany with the college set before moving on to another adventure!
I met two Italian men (cyclists) on the plane, and they also accompanied me to the train station. We ended up sitting together on the same train into Denmark and we laughed and chatted the whole way. They work in Milan and were taking a trip to Copenhagen to cycle with a big group of Italians. I think the two of them were a couple, since they seemed to take a lot of pictures of each other and they talked about previous vacations they'd be on together before. They carried my huge, stupid behemoth of a bag, and I offered to buy them beer in exchanged. Mario refused flatly and flamboyantly. "No, no! No beer!" he said and laughed. I insisted. "No--only one beer is not enough. That bag was HEAVY." I loved it--We laughed and laughed, and I bought them each a beer.
I changed trains in a little station called Ringsted at midnight. I got off of the train with my bags and waved goodbye to the Italians, and realized that the train station was completely and totally deserted. I was the only person on the platform at midnight on a chilly Danish summer night. I was a little uneasy at first, and then it was just fantastic. Denmark is a remarkably safe country (and anyway--there was absolutely nothing I could do about being alone except wait on my train. It was coming in half an hour. And I mean, where was I going to go, anyway? So I decided that being scared wouldn't do any good and I'd enjoy the solitude and the odd situation while I was in it.). I took pictures of the deserted train station at midnight. It was really quite beautiful to sit outside alone. About 10 minutes before my train came, people started shuffling in, seemingly from nowhere. Apparently the train station is hoppin' for the 1am train! I got on the cleanest and most wonderful train I'd ever been on and continued my journey.
The train was running a little late, and I got to the Fredericia train station at about 2am. Andi and Soren--both clad in pajamas and glasses--were waiting for me on the platform. I can't believe they picked me up! I had offered just to stay the night in Germany and take the train the next day, but they were having none of it.
Andi and I talked the entire way home, and stayed up until 3h30 or so chatting. We were staying with Soren's (her husband) parents and his two younger brothers, and one of teh brother's girlfriends, Karen. The house is beautiful. Many years ago, Soren's parents bought a run-down shack in a very rural area. Each year they renovated a little more of it, and now it feels like a fabulous country retreat, with huge windows, hardwood everywhere, a lake, a garden, orchards, and wheat fields. Denmark has new legislation protecting the landscape of the area, so no more houses can be built in their area. It was like going to a little mountain bed & breakfast. Andi offered me leftovers from dinner--pasta and duck and fabulous whole grain bread and cake and wine... we stood in the kitchen and snacked, and I fell in bed. We spent the next day walking around the Danish countryside and eating.
That evening, we drove to Aalborg, where Andi and Soren live. This is my second day in Aalborg, the Athens college town -type place of Denmark. It is on the ocean and has beautiful shops and architecture. Everything is so unbelievably clean and well-designed. Their apartment is wonderful--small, but absolutely wonderful--and is in the city center. While Soren travels (guys trip to Amsterdam this week) and Andi goes to language classes, I wander around the shops. Everyone speaks English and they are very warm. Andi teaches yoga, and I went ot her class last night. Then we ate the best doner kebab in the world--it even puts Achim's to shame, and I thought that was patently impossible.
Tonight, I'm cooking dinner while she's at yoga and we're bringing the food to one of her friend's houses. Her friend's husband is traveling with Soren this week, and the girl has an injured back. We're bringing dinner and wine over and having a girls' night. And I made the meatballs Caterina's mom taught me how to make! Danish grocery stores are interesting --mostly because i have no idea what I'm buying and don't speak a WORD of Danish--but beautiful. I'm also making frissa, a southern Italian bread dish much like bruschetta.
Tomorrow, Andi and I leave for Sweden. Then I come back Thursday or Friday morning, and Friday evening I fly out for Paris. I'll then meet some friends for lunch on the 28th, and I may go to London for a day to see my friend Katheryn. On the 31st, I fly home! Life is good.
This update is so long, by the way, because Andi and Soren have unlimited internet access and I'm currently home alone, cooking and putzing around. Life is VERY good!!
We arrived in Como that evening and took a taxi to her home. Cate studies in Milan but works in Como, so she bought an apartment in Como--Milan is exponentially more expensive and Como is exponentially more beautiful! She lives in a little top floor apartment in an old apartment building with a courtyard. The buliding is that beautiful signature Tuscan yellow, and everyone has flowers and herbs growing in windowboxes or on balconies. We trekked the 3 flights of stairs up with my 25-kilo bag (stupid, stupid, heavy behemoth of a bag... why, why, why did I pack so much?). We unlocked the door and I stepped in, and I loved it. Staying at Caterina's parents' home in Modena was wonderful--it was comforting to live with a mother and father and the normal goings-on of family life. But Cate's room was that of her childhood and had not changed much from when she was twelve. Her apartment was wonderful--it exuded her personality. There was hard wood, high ceilings, exposed brick walls, and a small but well-stocked kitchen. The ceilings had exposed wooden beams, and since the apartment was on the top of a building, many of the ceilings were slanted, as they were tucked immediately inside the slanting roof. It was cozy and inviting and filled with books, art, quotes, photographs, and sentimental trinkets. I was immediately and completely at home!
That night we boiled some pasta with pesto and lay down on the couches with the intention of watching a little TV or something... we ended up exchanging brain teaser / riddles, talking about board games, friends, family, and faith until 3am! We staggered to bed and slept well.
The next morning we woke up and went in to town. Her apartment is right in the city center, and I envy her easy walking distance to the Como lake and beautiful shops filled with Italian leather, lace, and fresh whipped gelato. We walked around the awe-inspiring lake tucked in the mountains / hills of the region. It was so gorgeous. I now see why George Clooney moved there! We strolled around the lake, looked at villas (many of which were used to shoot Ocean's Twelve, the film), window shopped, and stopped for lunch.
Now, lunch was an adventure. I hadn't eaten much breakfast and neither had Cate, but neither of us were very hungry. We decided to stop for an aperitivo first. Caterina had a flute of prosecco and I was torn between having an alcoholic drink or a LemonSoda--the world's best, fizziest, freshest, tart lemon drink (it even has lemon zest floating in it!). I soon remedied my problem when I ordered a vodka and lemon soda, with a twist of lemon.
And then the games began. I had forgotten how hard alcohol hits me when I've eaten nothing. Cate too, apparently, because after a little while sitting at a cafe on the bank of the Como lake, we were laughing, telling corny jokes, drunk dialing friends in America, and singing songs on the phone to the American friends. We had no intention of drinking much--and in fact, each of us only had one drink--but the rest of the afternoon was quite interesting and fun. At least I'm a happy drunk. Mostly I just told everyone how much I loved them. Good thing is, I mean it! As my drink was stronger than Cate's, I was drunk longer--and consequently, that much more effusive with my drunk-dialed friends. Cate couldn't stop laughing at me, rosy-cheeked, blurry-eyed and declaring my love for and peace with the world at 2 in the afternoon (which, incidentally, was all the more fun for my American call recipients--it was 10am there and I'm sure drunk dials to professional offices at 10am are just that much more amusing). The more effusive I became, the more Cate laughed, "In vino, veritas." In wine, truth. And it IS true-- I'm just that enamored of the people I love, and I'm generally just that happy with my life.
Even though we still weren't hungry--and at least one of us (an American who will go unnamed) voted to just keep drinking and forget all about food-- we did make a heavily Italian-influenced policy decision to get some lunch. Cate and I split a sandwich, and we met one of her friends from Como--ironically, named Caterina--at the cafe. Caterina 2, we will call her. Cate 2 spoke good English but excellent French, so the rest of our meal was spent with Cate 1 and me speaking English; the two Cates speaking Italian; and Cate 2 and I speaking French. It was really fun--and really challenging--to switch languages so rapidly. We got some really great stares from passers-by, who couldn't quite figure out just where we were all from.
Caterina 1 and I went to stroll around Como (and continue to sober up) and Cate 2 ran some errands. Cate 2 invited us to eat at her house with her parents that night, and we gladly accepted. She picked us up outside Como's Duomo (it is fabulously beautiful), and we got in the car to drive a little into the countryside.
The Tucci family lives in a restored 16th century villa that is beyond fabulous. There are vineyards; a 5th century church across from the grounds; an interior courtyard that used to be the marketplace in the 16th century--it was amazing. Cate2's brother, Paolo, was there as were her parents, who are both doctors. Her dad is an OBGYN and used to practice in San Fransisco (but they are all Italian by birth), and her mother is a neo-natal M.D. who also does emergency type work and just received a doctorate in homeopathic medicine. They were the kindest, most fascinating people! Once I got over the grandeur and splendor of the home, I was again immediately at home. We talked and ate until about midnight that night--it felt so nice to be with a family.
One thing that makes me feel so at home with Cate's family and friends is that all of them belong to a particular movement within the Catholic Church, the Communion and Liberation movement. Its emphasis is on experiencing Christ's love through community--spending time together, praying together, and on learning as much, both intellectually and philosophically, as you can about your own faith and other world religions. It is a beautiful balance of spirit and intellect, and questioning is encouraged. Everyone is very real and very warm and inviting, and the Puritanical repression that is so often associated with strong organized religion is markedly absent--of course, we drank wine; we told dirty jokes, even, and just enjoyed ourselves. I am not Catholic and do not profess the same beliefs as does Catholicism, but I have great respect and admiration for this movement and the people I have met who are in it. It is a beautiful thing to see communities of faith--REAL communities--all over the world.
Cate and I finally dragged home sometime after midnight, and the next morning we made a quick dash for the market and gelato before catching a train and bus to the Bergamo airport, where I would fly to Germany and then take a train into Denmark. It is always so hard to say goodbye to Caterina! I am always surprised at how easily we talk and coexist (we shared a room this entire trip), and how deep a friendship has sprung up between us. It is amazing to me that I can live with someone in the States for one semester, have very limited contact with them for several months, and then pick up as though no time has passed at all and spend two weeks in constant contact, with absolutely no tension or friction. We said a very hurried goodbye at the airport--I didn't want to cry. I will see her again soon, though, as she is studying in Baltimore some this fall. I'm lobbying to get her to spend Thanksgiving with us in Vidalia, and if she doesn't go home to Italy for Christmas, she will come to Vidalia. Friends are just magic. As sad as I am that so many of my friends live around the world--L.A., New Jersey, Washington DC, India, Denmark, France, Italy--I am so happy to know such interesting and wonderful people. Plus, I get to go visit!!!!
I took the plane to Hamburg and caught the bus to the train station. On the bus I met a very nice guy--a Swiss / French guy named Walter, who is studying environmental engineering in Germany. He accompanied me to the train station and helped me work out my schedule and ticket. He invited me even to stay with him and go to a French party in Hamburg that night, and catch the train the following morning to Denmark. I declined politely, but I was quite tempted! Europe is exponentially safer--in general personal interaction--than the States. The culture is simply not violent. I'm sure I would have been perfectly safe that night had I stayed, but I am cautious enough to avoid a situation like that as a female traveling alone. It's just not as safe as it needs to be... but it's always fun to think about a random, fun night in Germany with the college set before moving on to another adventure!
I met two Italian men (cyclists) on the plane, and they also accompanied me to the train station. We ended up sitting together on the same train into Denmark and we laughed and chatted the whole way. They work in Milan and were taking a trip to Copenhagen to cycle with a big group of Italians. I think the two of them were a couple, since they seemed to take a lot of pictures of each other and they talked about previous vacations they'd be on together before. They carried my huge, stupid behemoth of a bag, and I offered to buy them beer in exchanged. Mario refused flatly and flamboyantly. "No, no! No beer!" he said and laughed. I insisted. "No--only one beer is not enough. That bag was HEAVY." I loved it--We laughed and laughed, and I bought them each a beer.
I changed trains in a little station called Ringsted at midnight. I got off of the train with my bags and waved goodbye to the Italians, and realized that the train station was completely and totally deserted. I was the only person on the platform at midnight on a chilly Danish summer night. I was a little uneasy at first, and then it was just fantastic. Denmark is a remarkably safe country (and anyway--there was absolutely nothing I could do about being alone except wait on my train. It was coming in half an hour. And I mean, where was I going to go, anyway? So I decided that being scared wouldn't do any good and I'd enjoy the solitude and the odd situation while I was in it.). I took pictures of the deserted train station at midnight. It was really quite beautiful to sit outside alone. About 10 minutes before my train came, people started shuffling in, seemingly from nowhere. Apparently the train station is hoppin' for the 1am train! I got on the cleanest and most wonderful train I'd ever been on and continued my journey.
The train was running a little late, and I got to the Fredericia train station at about 2am. Andi and Soren--both clad in pajamas and glasses--were waiting for me on the platform. I can't believe they picked me up! I had offered just to stay the night in Germany and take the train the next day, but they were having none of it.
Andi and I talked the entire way home, and stayed up until 3h30 or so chatting. We were staying with Soren's (her husband) parents and his two younger brothers, and one of teh brother's girlfriends, Karen. The house is beautiful. Many years ago, Soren's parents bought a run-down shack in a very rural area. Each year they renovated a little more of it, and now it feels like a fabulous country retreat, with huge windows, hardwood everywhere, a lake, a garden, orchards, and wheat fields. Denmark has new legislation protecting the landscape of the area, so no more houses can be built in their area. It was like going to a little mountain bed & breakfast. Andi offered me leftovers from dinner--pasta and duck and fabulous whole grain bread and cake and wine... we stood in the kitchen and snacked, and I fell in bed. We spent the next day walking around the Danish countryside and eating.
That evening, we drove to Aalborg, where Andi and Soren live. This is my second day in Aalborg, the Athens college town -type place of Denmark. It is on the ocean and has beautiful shops and architecture. Everything is so unbelievably clean and well-designed. Their apartment is wonderful--small, but absolutely wonderful--and is in the city center. While Soren travels (guys trip to Amsterdam this week) and Andi goes to language classes, I wander around the shops. Everyone speaks English and they are very warm. Andi teaches yoga, and I went ot her class last night. Then we ate the best doner kebab in the world--it even puts Achim's to shame, and I thought that was patently impossible.
Tonight, I'm cooking dinner while she's at yoga and we're bringing the food to one of her friend's houses. Her friend's husband is traveling with Soren this week, and the girl has an injured back. We're bringing dinner and wine over and having a girls' night. And I made the meatballs Caterina's mom taught me how to make! Danish grocery stores are interesting --mostly because i have no idea what I'm buying and don't speak a WORD of Danish--but beautiful. I'm also making frissa, a southern Italian bread dish much like bruschetta.
Tomorrow, Andi and I leave for Sweden. Then I come back Thursday or Friday morning, and Friday evening I fly out for Paris. I'll then meet some friends for lunch on the 28th, and I may go to London for a day to see my friend Katheryn. On the 31st, I fly home! Life is good.
This update is so long, by the way, because Andi and Soren have unlimited internet access and I'm currently home alone, cooking and putzing around. Life is VERY good!!
Monday, August 22, 2005
Valley Girl
Hi, all... So it's time to update you on my rock climbing adventure in the Dolomiti. Caterina's father, Massimo, is an avid hiker and rock climber. Caterina showed me pictures of their excursions while she was living with me in the States, and she commented that her dad was something of a daredevil--when he climbs, he doesn't use any equipment: no climbing shoes, no helmets, no ropes or carabiners--nothing. He says that changing the carabiners and re-hooking only slows him down, and the ropes are really only useful for recovering corpses (gasp!). Surely, I thought, this must be exaggeration.
So when Massimo offered to take me for a hike in the Dolomiti, I was quite enthused, mostly since I though it would be predominantly a hike, and maybe, if I were lucky, I could do something of a beginner climb. I was thinking something like climbing a 10meter face, with all manner of equipment, for a novice's first experience. When we told the family (Caterina's mother, Fiorella; and her sister, Angela) that we were going hiking, they all laughed and smiled knowingly. They described the hikes as "exhausting," and when I thanked Massimo profusely for the offer, they all grinned and said, "oh, wait on the gratitude. We'll see how you feel tomorrow when you're done hiking." I was a bit anxious--I felt particularly out of shape, since I hadn't done yoga or pilates in a good two months, and the last real run I had was the Peachtree on July 4--but I was enthusiastic about trying.
We awoke at 6h30 the next morning and left the house by 7am. We drove two hours into the Dolomiti, where the landscape became increasingly dramatic as we neared our destination. We saw sheer faces; beautiful trees; and awe-inspiring rocks jutting out of the mountains, leaving all vegetation behind, approaching the clouds. It was beautiful. I've read so many travel narratives and works of historical fiction that describe mountains as "treacherous" or "looming," but that seemed too naturalistic and fatalistic for what I saw. It was beautiful; peaceful; raw nature, and it beckoned.
We parked at the foot of the mountain, completely in the valley--as in, next to the stream that ran in the lowest part. Wow, I thought. When he meant hiking, he meant hiking. Clearly there would be no using funiculars or driving part of the way up--we were going to do everything on foot. We started before the trail began--most people were taking the funicular to an elevation of about 1800 meters. We forged our way through cow pastures and old, winding roads until the trail began. An hour and a half later we reached a beautiful rock outcropping with an iron statute of an eagle, about 4 meters tall, perched atop it. We sat down to have a break. I wondered how near our destination we were--surely it was close, since about 200 more meters up the trail seemed to end and all I could see was rock face. We hiked higher and stopped for lunch. "Is this the summit?" I asked, thinking that the hike had actually not been tiring, compared to what his family had warned me of. Caterina and Masssimo grinned and averted their eyes from mine. I heard Cate stifle a giggle and Massimo say, "No. This is the beginning."
I looked up at sheer rock, devoid of any vegetation--even moss or lichen-- and saw no discernible trail. "Look there," Massimo pointed to two tiny ant-like figures clinging to bare rock, moving toward an iron rope girding a rock. I looked up. "Yes?" I said, not quite sure what I was looking for. The rangers? A rescue expedition? "That's the trail," he replied. Oboy, oboy, you are KIDDING, I thought. As I squinted harder, I made out more figures inching their way up and around a dramatic group of cliffs. They were dizzying to look at, zigzagging up and down. There were no clouds, so when I looked down, there was nothing obscuring my view of the craggy rocks below ... or the distance back down to the valley. Wow. Well, I thought, this must be a beginner climb. We'll go a little ways. It should be fine.
Four hours and many silent prayers later, we were still climbing. I was really terrified. Though Caterina and Massimo do not use equipment, I asked if I could use a rope and carabiner. I was just in my running shoes, so I was afraid of my foot slipping on the rocks. They lent me a rope and belt equipment and we kept climbing. The higher we went, the thinner the crowd of people, the steeper the rock, and the more equipment other people had. I felt vastly underprotected with my scant rope and no helmet, especially after I slipped a little and banged my elbow against the rock. I'm used to Georgia clay, which is soft and crumbles at slight pressure. This mountain did not resemble Georgia clay in the slightest, as our climb was entirely on stone. When I hit my elbow, I realized just how hard the stone was, and how futile the ropes could be. Even if I slipped and the rope caught me, I realized, I had a pretty good chance of not surviving when if my body swung against the rock. It would be so easy to break a bone or get seriously hurt just falling a foot or so if I swung against a rock. Oboy, oboy. As I climbed--and it's funny now, looking back--I kept thinking, "Hmm... if I slip and fall without the rope, I plummet to my death. Relatively qiuckly. If I slip and fall WITH the rope, I swing against this stone and probably break my neck. I might not die, but if I don't, I might be a vegable... which is preferable? [climb, climb, trudge, trudge], being a vegetable or just getting it over with?" I was really terrified. Awestruck, but terrified.
The climb took all of my strength, flexibility, endurance, determination, concentration, and courage. I really just didn't give heed to my fear--it wasn't going to help me. I observed that patience often masquerades as skill--meaning that even one who is entirely unskilled and untrained in something, like me in rock climbing, if you go slowly and deliberately enough and focus all of your concentration on the present moment, and make only tiny steps forward, you look much more skilled than you actulaly are--and you are safer. Rock climbing is an incredible way to exist in the present moment. It is imperative that you do so... or at least, it felt that way to me.
We finally reached the summit, and it was amazing. I was surprised by how small the summit was, and how steep the fall off of it was. We were 2,800 meters (roughly 8,000 feet) above sea level, and it was breathtaking. We stayed at the summit for a while, and I called Mom. She can tell you the details of that conversation!
I quickly learned that going down is much, much more frightening than going up. There were black rain clouds looming, and we had ot hurry back down. This was much worse, as I had to constantly look down, and often go backwards, almost like rappelling off of the rocks. On our descent, we passed a gravestone (admittedly, from 1965, before any iron ropes or safety measures were added). "Oh," I thought, "Fan-freaking tastic..." Caterina caught my eye and explained that the man probably got caught in a storm. I looked up at the rain clouds and raised my eyebrows. We both started laughing.
We finally reached the halfway point and vegetation returned. I've never been so happy to see grass and moss in my life!! I thought, "Please, God, let me get off of this mountain. I will be so completley thrilled to be called a valley girl..."
That night, I was actually too tired ot eat. I bit into an apple at 9pm or so and realized that I couldn't even chew it properly. We returned to Modena at 10h30 or so, and I staggered into the shower. It was easily one of the best 3 experiences of my life to sit in a warm tub, safely on the ground, and know that I wouldn't be falling anywhre. It was beautiful. Absolutely perfect.
Throughout the climb I kept telling myself, "Okay, Tiffany--do this and do it right and do it now, because you will NEVER do this again. EVER." But after my shower and after a hot meal of steaming pasta and meatballs, I started thinking, "Hey, that was AMAZING." I looked at all the photos we'd taken, and thought about how I hadn't believed I could truly scale an Alpine mountain. The photos were beautiful. My sense of accomplishment was almost unparallelled. It didn't feel like Relay for LIfe or anything, which took long planning and other people--it was a physical, spiritual, and mental feat to have climbed like I did. It was actually pretty emotional.
At dinner, Caterina's dad told me what a great job I'd done. I commented that for a novice trail, it took all my strength to do it. He smiled and the family exchanged looks again--a sure sign that I was mistaken about something. "This trail was not for beginners. It ranges from intermediate to difficult climbing." Wow! So I'd done an intermediate - difficult ALPINE rock climb! I felt proud, and afraid all over again. Later, Caterina told me that I'd done well, too. She and her dad said that most of the time, even some minimally experienced climbers reach that rock and freeze and refuse to go on. But I'd done it! Without complaining, without going back, without even asking to. Yipopee!
So I'd like to do it again. No, not of the same difficulty level--but something shorter and easier and safer, with more equipment. It was an amazing experience. And when we drove through the mountains later, and when I flew over them on my way to Denmark, for the first time, they loomed. They looked treacherous. I have a healthy respect for mountains now. I felt chills on my spine when I saw the mountains and felt all the same fear again. But I did it. I hope mountains will look peaceful again to me one day, but I think that's unlikely. One thing is for sure: All of the talk about nature being peaceful and free and careless and wonderful--in the vein of Thoreau and other transcendentalists--is really a load of crap. Nature will eat you if it gets the chance. It's not personal, it's just the nature of the beast. And that deserves caution and respect. And equipment. And after that, grappa. Lots of grappa.
I'll do my best to post some photos to the web, but there are a jillion of them. Oh, and I took some stones from the summit, to be paper weights on my desk next year. When I think I'm having a hard day at work, I can look at them and remember, and think, "Oh, this is NOT a hard day. If I can climb that mountain, I can ABSOLUTLEY do this research..."
So when Massimo offered to take me for a hike in the Dolomiti, I was quite enthused, mostly since I though it would be predominantly a hike, and maybe, if I were lucky, I could do something of a beginner climb. I was thinking something like climbing a 10meter face, with all manner of equipment, for a novice's first experience. When we told the family (Caterina's mother, Fiorella; and her sister, Angela) that we were going hiking, they all laughed and smiled knowingly. They described the hikes as "exhausting," and when I thanked Massimo profusely for the offer, they all grinned and said, "oh, wait on the gratitude. We'll see how you feel tomorrow when you're done hiking." I was a bit anxious--I felt particularly out of shape, since I hadn't done yoga or pilates in a good two months, and the last real run I had was the Peachtree on July 4--but I was enthusiastic about trying.
We awoke at 6h30 the next morning and left the house by 7am. We drove two hours into the Dolomiti, where the landscape became increasingly dramatic as we neared our destination. We saw sheer faces; beautiful trees; and awe-inspiring rocks jutting out of the mountains, leaving all vegetation behind, approaching the clouds. It was beautiful. I've read so many travel narratives and works of historical fiction that describe mountains as "treacherous" or "looming," but that seemed too naturalistic and fatalistic for what I saw. It was beautiful; peaceful; raw nature, and it beckoned.
We parked at the foot of the mountain, completely in the valley--as in, next to the stream that ran in the lowest part. Wow, I thought. When he meant hiking, he meant hiking. Clearly there would be no using funiculars or driving part of the way up--we were going to do everything on foot. We started before the trail began--most people were taking the funicular to an elevation of about 1800 meters. We forged our way through cow pastures and old, winding roads until the trail began. An hour and a half later we reached a beautiful rock outcropping with an iron statute of an eagle, about 4 meters tall, perched atop it. We sat down to have a break. I wondered how near our destination we were--surely it was close, since about 200 more meters up the trail seemed to end and all I could see was rock face. We hiked higher and stopped for lunch. "Is this the summit?" I asked, thinking that the hike had actually not been tiring, compared to what his family had warned me of. Caterina and Masssimo grinned and averted their eyes from mine. I heard Cate stifle a giggle and Massimo say, "No. This is the beginning."
I looked up at sheer rock, devoid of any vegetation--even moss or lichen-- and saw no discernible trail. "Look there," Massimo pointed to two tiny ant-like figures clinging to bare rock, moving toward an iron rope girding a rock. I looked up. "Yes?" I said, not quite sure what I was looking for. The rangers? A rescue expedition? "That's the trail," he replied. Oboy, oboy, you are KIDDING, I thought. As I squinted harder, I made out more figures inching their way up and around a dramatic group of cliffs. They were dizzying to look at, zigzagging up and down. There were no clouds, so when I looked down, there was nothing obscuring my view of the craggy rocks below ... or the distance back down to the valley. Wow. Well, I thought, this must be a beginner climb. We'll go a little ways. It should be fine.
Four hours and many silent prayers later, we were still climbing. I was really terrified. Though Caterina and Massimo do not use equipment, I asked if I could use a rope and carabiner. I was just in my running shoes, so I was afraid of my foot slipping on the rocks. They lent me a rope and belt equipment and we kept climbing. The higher we went, the thinner the crowd of people, the steeper the rock, and the more equipment other people had. I felt vastly underprotected with my scant rope and no helmet, especially after I slipped a little and banged my elbow against the rock. I'm used to Georgia clay, which is soft and crumbles at slight pressure. This mountain did not resemble Georgia clay in the slightest, as our climb was entirely on stone. When I hit my elbow, I realized just how hard the stone was, and how futile the ropes could be. Even if I slipped and the rope caught me, I realized, I had a pretty good chance of not surviving when if my body swung against the rock. It would be so easy to break a bone or get seriously hurt just falling a foot or so if I swung against a rock. Oboy, oboy. As I climbed--and it's funny now, looking back--I kept thinking, "Hmm... if I slip and fall without the rope, I plummet to my death. Relatively qiuckly. If I slip and fall WITH the rope, I swing against this stone and probably break my neck. I might not die, but if I don't, I might be a vegable... which is preferable? [climb, climb, trudge, trudge], being a vegetable or just getting it over with?" I was really terrified. Awestruck, but terrified.
The climb took all of my strength, flexibility, endurance, determination, concentration, and courage. I really just didn't give heed to my fear--it wasn't going to help me. I observed that patience often masquerades as skill--meaning that even one who is entirely unskilled and untrained in something, like me in rock climbing, if you go slowly and deliberately enough and focus all of your concentration on the present moment, and make only tiny steps forward, you look much more skilled than you actulaly are--and you are safer. Rock climbing is an incredible way to exist in the present moment. It is imperative that you do so... or at least, it felt that way to me.
We finally reached the summit, and it was amazing. I was surprised by how small the summit was, and how steep the fall off of it was. We were 2,800 meters (roughly 8,000 feet) above sea level, and it was breathtaking. We stayed at the summit for a while, and I called Mom. She can tell you the details of that conversation!
I quickly learned that going down is much, much more frightening than going up. There were black rain clouds looming, and we had ot hurry back down. This was much worse, as I had to constantly look down, and often go backwards, almost like rappelling off of the rocks. On our descent, we passed a gravestone (admittedly, from 1965, before any iron ropes or safety measures were added). "Oh," I thought, "Fan-freaking tastic..." Caterina caught my eye and explained that the man probably got caught in a storm. I looked up at the rain clouds and raised my eyebrows. We both started laughing.
We finally reached the halfway point and vegetation returned. I've never been so happy to see grass and moss in my life!! I thought, "Please, God, let me get off of this mountain. I will be so completley thrilled to be called a valley girl..."
That night, I was actually too tired ot eat. I bit into an apple at 9pm or so and realized that I couldn't even chew it properly. We returned to Modena at 10h30 or so, and I staggered into the shower. It was easily one of the best 3 experiences of my life to sit in a warm tub, safely on the ground, and know that I wouldn't be falling anywhre. It was beautiful. Absolutely perfect.
Throughout the climb I kept telling myself, "Okay, Tiffany--do this and do it right and do it now, because you will NEVER do this again. EVER." But after my shower and after a hot meal of steaming pasta and meatballs, I started thinking, "Hey, that was AMAZING." I looked at all the photos we'd taken, and thought about how I hadn't believed I could truly scale an Alpine mountain. The photos were beautiful. My sense of accomplishment was almost unparallelled. It didn't feel like Relay for LIfe or anything, which took long planning and other people--it was a physical, spiritual, and mental feat to have climbed like I did. It was actually pretty emotional.
At dinner, Caterina's dad told me what a great job I'd done. I commented that for a novice trail, it took all my strength to do it. He smiled and the family exchanged looks again--a sure sign that I was mistaken about something. "This trail was not for beginners. It ranges from intermediate to difficult climbing." Wow! So I'd done an intermediate - difficult ALPINE rock climb! I felt proud, and afraid all over again. Later, Caterina told me that I'd done well, too. She and her dad said that most of the time, even some minimally experienced climbers reach that rock and freeze and refuse to go on. But I'd done it! Without complaining, without going back, without even asking to. Yipopee!
So I'd like to do it again. No, not of the same difficulty level--but something shorter and easier and safer, with more equipment. It was an amazing experience. And when we drove through the mountains later, and when I flew over them on my way to Denmark, for the first time, they loomed. They looked treacherous. I have a healthy respect for mountains now. I felt chills on my spine when I saw the mountains and felt all the same fear again. But I did it. I hope mountains will look peaceful again to me one day, but I think that's unlikely. One thing is for sure: All of the talk about nature being peaceful and free and careless and wonderful--in the vein of Thoreau and other transcendentalists--is really a load of crap. Nature will eat you if it gets the chance. It's not personal, it's just the nature of the beast. And that deserves caution and respect. And equipment. And after that, grappa. Lots of grappa.
I'll do my best to post some photos to the web, but there are a jillion of them. Oh, and I took some stones from the summit, to be paper weights on my desk next year. When I think I'm having a hard day at work, I can look at them and remember, and think, "Oh, this is NOT a hard day. If I can climb that mountain, I can ABSOLUTLEY do this research..."
Sunday, August 21, 2005
quick, quick update
Hi! I´m in Denmark now... I pay by the minute for internet, so here´s the fast update:
- went rock climbing. For real, with rope and carabiner, 2,800meters, from 7am to 10pm. it was terrifying but amazing. i have never been so happy to get back to LAND.
- went to Como with Caterina and met some of her friends. They live in a restored villa from the 16th century and it is amazing. They were great and had us over for supper. Como is my new favorite Italian city.
- went to Denmark and arrived at 2 this morning! had lots of fun on the trip. traveled alone but met some very nice folks. i love collecting new friends when i travel.
we will go to Aalborg tomorrow, and then try to plana trip to Norway and potentially Sweden. This is my first time in Scandinavia! It´s great. Weather is cooler and sunny, and the food is great. It´s wonderful to see andi and Soren.
will write more when it´s cheaper! i don´t want my hosts to pay too much.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
The quick, quick version
Hi! So we finished the wedding with an absolutely incredible amount of food--apparently, the mortal sin of gluttony has been removed from the Southern Italian catechism...
The next day, Caterina, Meri and I cleaned up the house since the bride and groom would be staying there for a week. WE didn't quite know what to do with Stew the Rabbit, so Cate and I decided to wash him with the Italian equivalent of Snuggles detergent (since he was fur, I mean, you HAD to use a delicate detergent, right?), fluffed him with a hair dryer, dressed him up, and shut him in the bathroom as a surprise for the newlyweds. We haven't heard from them yet, but they must have found him by now. The bathroom shower leaked and dripped water, much like Chinese water torture, and it kept us up at night for a while. We've joked that it was like Chinese torture for the rabbit, and by the time the newlyweds arrived, they'd have a fluffy and hysterical rabbit that smelled of clothes detergent. He was also impossible to rinse properly, so for the rest of his life, the poor bunny will suds up when he gets wet. Poor guy. We took pictures, though, which was highly amusing.
Cate and I then traveled to Modena where we are currently staying with her family--mom is Fiorella, dad is Massimo (I think), sister Angela, and their brother Davide and his wife Barbara visited for dinner last night. Last night was Ferragosto, the feast of the assumption of the virgin, so we had lots of food. Caterina's mother lets me help cook, and it's fun!
We went for the afternoon to caterina's little house in the foothills in the area. it is one of the most peaceful places I've ever visited. We saw the herb garden, lots of trees, animals, did some very light hiking, and saw the grapes her father grows--he makes wine as a hobby. The house really reminded me of a beach house I once visited in Brittany with Stephane, a French guy I know. It was magnificent.
Tomorrow Cate's dad is taking us hiking and giving me my first rockclimbing lesson!! He's big into rock climbing. on the 20th, i fly to Hamburg Germany and then take a train into denmark, where i will meet Andi and her Danish family. I think the two of us will stay in Denmark for a while (she teaches yoga and has classes that week), and then go into Scandinavia--Norway and Sweden. Then I'll travel to Paris and meet Jean-Claude on the 28th for lunch. I'll spend the next days in Paris, and probably go into Le Mans, the town where I lived and worked in France, for a day. Then I fly home from Paris on the 31st!! I cannot wait! It's fantastic.
So.... My plane gets in at 10h30pm or so on the 31st. Any volunteers to meet me at the airport? Shameless trolling, I know, but if anybody's interested, email me and I'll give you more details about my arrival. At the present moment, I'm taking a taxi back home.
The next day, Caterina, Meri and I cleaned up the house since the bride and groom would be staying there for a week. WE didn't quite know what to do with Stew the Rabbit, so Cate and I decided to wash him with the Italian equivalent of Snuggles detergent (since he was fur, I mean, you HAD to use a delicate detergent, right?), fluffed him with a hair dryer, dressed him up, and shut him in the bathroom as a surprise for the newlyweds. We haven't heard from them yet, but they must have found him by now. The bathroom shower leaked and dripped water, much like Chinese water torture, and it kept us up at night for a while. We've joked that it was like Chinese torture for the rabbit, and by the time the newlyweds arrived, they'd have a fluffy and hysterical rabbit that smelled of clothes detergent. He was also impossible to rinse properly, so for the rest of his life, the poor bunny will suds up when he gets wet. Poor guy. We took pictures, though, which was highly amusing.
Cate and I then traveled to Modena where we are currently staying with her family--mom is Fiorella, dad is Massimo (I think), sister Angela, and their brother Davide and his wife Barbara visited for dinner last night. Last night was Ferragosto, the feast of the assumption of the virgin, so we had lots of food. Caterina's mother lets me help cook, and it's fun!
We went for the afternoon to caterina's little house in the foothills in the area. it is one of the most peaceful places I've ever visited. We saw the herb garden, lots of trees, animals, did some very light hiking, and saw the grapes her father grows--he makes wine as a hobby. The house really reminded me of a beach house I once visited in Brittany with Stephane, a French guy I know. It was magnificent.
Tomorrow Cate's dad is taking us hiking and giving me my first rockclimbing lesson!! He's big into rock climbing. on the 20th, i fly to Hamburg Germany and then take a train into denmark, where i will meet Andi and her Danish family. I think the two of us will stay in Denmark for a while (she teaches yoga and has classes that week), and then go into Scandinavia--Norway and Sweden. Then I'll travel to Paris and meet Jean-Claude on the 28th for lunch. I'll spend the next days in Paris, and probably go into Le Mans, the town where I lived and worked in France, for a day. Then I fly home from Paris on the 31st!! I cannot wait! It's fantastic.
So.... My plane gets in at 10h30pm or so on the 31st. Any volunteers to meet me at the airport? Shameless trolling, I know, but if anybody's interested, email me and I'll give you more details about my arrival. At the present moment, I'm taking a taxi back home.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Paradise Found!
OH, MY GOODNESS. I can actually think of many more colorful words to describe the wedding, but all of them are insufficient. Absolutely amazing; decadent; joyful; festive; beautiful; gluttonous; none of these come close to describing it! But I'll start with the bachelorette party.
Be forewarned: I've been trying to speak a lot of Italian and I'm finding myself in that linguistic no-man's land where my vocabulary is English but my word order is somewhere between Italian and French. I hope this is at least marginally coherent, as my brain seems to not know which snippets of which language to use when.
We were told to meet in the piazza in Galatone at 8pm, and I was worried that we would be late when we arrived at 8h30. This was of no concern to anyone wiser in the ways of the South, however... we were the first to arrive--by a full hour's margin! Sebbastiano had told Tina that the two of them were going to dinner, but when she got to the car, he blindfolded her and drove her to the piazza, where she met all of her girlfriends--I think there were 13 of us total. We all took pictures with and of the blindfolded and laughing Tina, and we set off for a club to eat dinner and dance, Club Praja, the same place Caterina, Meri and I had been for salsa the night before. We arrived and ate a beautiful meal of assorted Italian pizze, antipasti, and risotto. I love Meri--she likes to taste everything, so we ordered in tandem and shared everything: insalata mista di mare, the best mussels ever, fish carpaccio, and risotto mista di mare. We shared a liter of wine and everyone else's food, too! The meal --because of the company--was pure entertainment. Caterina and Meri are from northern Italy, which tends to be stereotytpically quieter, more refined, better educated, more elegant, and more sophisticated than the South. The rest of the crew was from Southern Italy--loud, somewhat coarse, very off-color (in humor), sociable, flamboyant, decadent. The girls were amazing. There was Tina, the truly shy and blushing bride; Anna, the groom's sister who speaks only in yells and at top speed; the bride's sister, adorned in leopard print and her hair crimped and streaked, much like a dark lion's mane; two shy friends of Tina who had children of their own; and one extremely outspoken Sicilian relative, who was the wife of some cousin somewhere. The Sicilian was hilarious--at nine months pregnant, she took the occasional drag on a cigarette and the occasional sip of wine, but more than that, she danced, flirted with the waiter, and generally told dirty jokes so the whole restaurant could hear. I wished more than ever that I understood Italian, but when I asked Caterina to translate, she gave me a blank stare--apparently, most of what the Sicilian said was in dialect and nobody (even the bride) really understood it! They all got the dirty jokes, but much of the loud cackling banter was lost on everyone--except the Sicilian, who seemed to be having a grand time right by herself.
After dinner, Caterina, Meri and I had a hard time staying awake. We'd been out until sunrise the previous two nights and were exhausted from spending both full days on the beach, swimming and in the sun. Praja came alive at about 1am, and we started to dance with everyone, thinking we wouldn't stay very long. It wasn't salsa like the night before, but a drag show! Truly-Italian men can make some absolutely gorgeous Italian women. It was hilarious. We stayed and danced until 3 and then dragged ourselves back home to bed.
The next day we spent on the beach, recuperating from three hard nights. We found a gorgeous beach, Porto Cesareo--white sand, clear water, great music, fantastic landscape. The beach varied between silky white sand and craggy rock cliffs. It was magic. At sunset, we found a little place called Club Litos, a discotheque about two feet above sea level, built on the most fantastic landscape I've seen outside of Brittany. Rocks and churning waves as far as the eye could see, and a brilliant sunset. My camera battery had run out so I couldn't take pictures, so the girls and I sat and watched sunset in awestruck silence.
We cooked dinner at home that night--Frissa. It's a special dish just from Salento, the region within Puglia where we were. you pour water and olive oil on a special bagel-sized piece of dried bread, and top it with a mixture of tomato, oregano, olive oil, salt, capers, artichokes, and pretty much whatever else you want to. it's a lot like bruschetta. We added tuna fish and salame--and plenty of beer-and called it a meal. It was quite yummy. after all of the diet food in Trieste, when we went shopping for dinner, I made a mad dash for parmesiana reggiano and spicy salame and clutched them to my chest until we got home. No way was I going to be in Italy and not eat my favorite, favorite Italian food--I don't care WHO is on WHAT diet. I really must have looked like a maniac guarding my food, because Caterina and Merri asked if I were feeling alright. I laughed at myself and said yes. But I didn't loosen my grip. Mine. All mine. And I ate it all.
That night, I regretted eating it all... Caterina went to see the traditional serenade of the bride, but I was too full to move. She said that the entire family--of the bride, groom, and pretty much everyone who is going ot the wedding--shows up under the bride's window and all of them play mandolin, accordion, and guitar and serenade the bride. The first serenade is serious and beautiful, a song of undying love and desire. The next verses are spoofs of the real song, with the words changed to tell a story about the particular couple. Caterina said they were great.
The wedding festivitites picked up the next morning when pretty much the whole town showed up outside the bride's house, waiting for her to make hre grand appearance in her gown. First the best man and maid of honor walk outside on a red carpet, and then the bride appears, and the crowd cheers. She takes scissors and cuts a ribbon tied around the doorframe (no one's quite sure what that's about, but in southern Italy, you can't get married without doing it, apparently). Then everyone filmed video and took pictures of the gorgeous, gorgeous bride. She really was breathtaking. Tall, thin, dark, with dark eyes and dark curly hair, and graceful. She got into the convertible (a black audi A4, no less) with her father and the two witnesses (best man and maid of honor) and started for the church. Tradition is that the groom is in the church, waiting, and the bride leads everyone else, guests and all, into the cathedral. That was the plan, at least.
Then the chaos started! Evidently, the groom called his sister Anna (the really, really loud one) and told her that he wasn't at the church yet. Anna starts yelling and stopping the entire caravan to the church. She also was giving her brother absolute hell, from the tone of her voice and flush of everyone's cheeks. We drove Anna to the church with everyone else, with her screaming into her mobile phone the entire way. The bride had forgotten he rgloves, and Anna yelled at someone else to bring them to the church. An eventful morning.
We arrived at the church and sat through a beautiful Italian Catholic wedding. It lasted for about an hour, and then we were off to the reception.
The reception was perfect--I mean, if I ever get married, I want mine to be EXACTLY like this. We drove to the seaside to a restaurant and hotel overlooking the sea. We were all ushered into the garden area--waterfalls, beautiful greenery, wooden bridges, stone archways, champagne, and the beginning of the greatest feast of my life. While the bride and groom took pictures by the sea and in the garden, the rest of us feasted: arrancini, fried balls of mashed potatoes with mozzarella inside, meatballs with mushrooms and cheese, fried bread (like hush puppies, only a million times better); a whole roast pig; fried sage. The crowning glory was the man making fresh mozzarella di bufala right in front of us. He stood over a vat of steaming, boiling salty milk mixture, and dipped his hands in to pull out a mass of stringy, steaming mozzarella. He dipped his hands in icy water, stretched a string of mozzarella out, tied it in a knot, pinched it off, and dripped it in chilled salt water. We used toothpicks to spear a piece of cheese and bring it, quivering, to our mouths--cold and salty on the outside, steaming and creamy and salty perfection once you took your first bite. It was absolute heaven. It was opulent even as Italians go, as everyone was oohing and aahing and taking pictures.
It was paradise--in a garden on the sea with Italian men in tuxedos bringing me more food and champagne than anyone could possibly consume. I was absolutely beside myself. It helped that I was American--everyone was anxious for me to try all of the food and coo over it. It also helped that Caterina had told everyone that I was from Hollywood, so they regarded me for a few seconds like some sort of glamorous movie star. I tried so hard not to laugh, but it was fantastic.
Okay, I've got to go--briefly, the meal then lasted 6 hours and included 13 separate appetizers, 3 primi, 3 secondi, and gelato. I'm in Modena with Cat's family--dinner guests just arrived!
Be forewarned: I've been trying to speak a lot of Italian and I'm finding myself in that linguistic no-man's land where my vocabulary is English but my word order is somewhere between Italian and French. I hope this is at least marginally coherent, as my brain seems to not know which snippets of which language to use when.
We were told to meet in the piazza in Galatone at 8pm, and I was worried that we would be late when we arrived at 8h30. This was of no concern to anyone wiser in the ways of the South, however... we were the first to arrive--by a full hour's margin! Sebbastiano had told Tina that the two of them were going to dinner, but when she got to the car, he blindfolded her and drove her to the piazza, where she met all of her girlfriends--I think there were 13 of us total. We all took pictures with and of the blindfolded and laughing Tina, and we set off for a club to eat dinner and dance, Club Praja, the same place Caterina, Meri and I had been for salsa the night before. We arrived and ate a beautiful meal of assorted Italian pizze, antipasti, and risotto. I love Meri--she likes to taste everything, so we ordered in tandem and shared everything: insalata mista di mare, the best mussels ever, fish carpaccio, and risotto mista di mare. We shared a liter of wine and everyone else's food, too! The meal --because of the company--was pure entertainment. Caterina and Meri are from northern Italy, which tends to be stereotytpically quieter, more refined, better educated, more elegant, and more sophisticated than the South. The rest of the crew was from Southern Italy--loud, somewhat coarse, very off-color (in humor), sociable, flamboyant, decadent. The girls were amazing. There was Tina, the truly shy and blushing bride; Anna, the groom's sister who speaks only in yells and at top speed; the bride's sister, adorned in leopard print and her hair crimped and streaked, much like a dark lion's mane; two shy friends of Tina who had children of their own; and one extremely outspoken Sicilian relative, who was the wife of some cousin somewhere. The Sicilian was hilarious--at nine months pregnant, she took the occasional drag on a cigarette and the occasional sip of wine, but more than that, she danced, flirted with the waiter, and generally told dirty jokes so the whole restaurant could hear. I wished more than ever that I understood Italian, but when I asked Caterina to translate, she gave me a blank stare--apparently, most of what the Sicilian said was in dialect and nobody (even the bride) really understood it! They all got the dirty jokes, but much of the loud cackling banter was lost on everyone--except the Sicilian, who seemed to be having a grand time right by herself.
After dinner, Caterina, Meri and I had a hard time staying awake. We'd been out until sunrise the previous two nights and were exhausted from spending both full days on the beach, swimming and in the sun. Praja came alive at about 1am, and we started to dance with everyone, thinking we wouldn't stay very long. It wasn't salsa like the night before, but a drag show! Truly-Italian men can make some absolutely gorgeous Italian women. It was hilarious. We stayed and danced until 3 and then dragged ourselves back home to bed.
The next day we spent on the beach, recuperating from three hard nights. We found a gorgeous beach, Porto Cesareo--white sand, clear water, great music, fantastic landscape. The beach varied between silky white sand and craggy rock cliffs. It was magic. At sunset, we found a little place called Club Litos, a discotheque about two feet above sea level, built on the most fantastic landscape I've seen outside of Brittany. Rocks and churning waves as far as the eye could see, and a brilliant sunset. My camera battery had run out so I couldn't take pictures, so the girls and I sat and watched sunset in awestruck silence.
We cooked dinner at home that night--Frissa. It's a special dish just from Salento, the region within Puglia where we were. you pour water and olive oil on a special bagel-sized piece of dried bread, and top it with a mixture of tomato, oregano, olive oil, salt, capers, artichokes, and pretty much whatever else you want to. it's a lot like bruschetta. We added tuna fish and salame--and plenty of beer-and called it a meal. It was quite yummy. after all of the diet food in Trieste, when we went shopping for dinner, I made a mad dash for parmesiana reggiano and spicy salame and clutched them to my chest until we got home. No way was I going to be in Italy and not eat my favorite, favorite Italian food--I don't care WHO is on WHAT diet. I really must have looked like a maniac guarding my food, because Caterina and Merri asked if I were feeling alright. I laughed at myself and said yes. But I didn't loosen my grip. Mine. All mine. And I ate it all.
That night, I regretted eating it all... Caterina went to see the traditional serenade of the bride, but I was too full to move. She said that the entire family--of the bride, groom, and pretty much everyone who is going ot the wedding--shows up under the bride's window and all of them play mandolin, accordion, and guitar and serenade the bride. The first serenade is serious and beautiful, a song of undying love and desire. The next verses are spoofs of the real song, with the words changed to tell a story about the particular couple. Caterina said they were great.
The wedding festivitites picked up the next morning when pretty much the whole town showed up outside the bride's house, waiting for her to make hre grand appearance in her gown. First the best man and maid of honor walk outside on a red carpet, and then the bride appears, and the crowd cheers. She takes scissors and cuts a ribbon tied around the doorframe (no one's quite sure what that's about, but in southern Italy, you can't get married without doing it, apparently). Then everyone filmed video and took pictures of the gorgeous, gorgeous bride. She really was breathtaking. Tall, thin, dark, with dark eyes and dark curly hair, and graceful. She got into the convertible (a black audi A4, no less) with her father and the two witnesses (best man and maid of honor) and started for the church. Tradition is that the groom is in the church, waiting, and the bride leads everyone else, guests and all, into the cathedral. That was the plan, at least.
Then the chaos started! Evidently, the groom called his sister Anna (the really, really loud one) and told her that he wasn't at the church yet. Anna starts yelling and stopping the entire caravan to the church. She also was giving her brother absolute hell, from the tone of her voice and flush of everyone's cheeks. We drove Anna to the church with everyone else, with her screaming into her mobile phone the entire way. The bride had forgotten he rgloves, and Anna yelled at someone else to bring them to the church. An eventful morning.
We arrived at the church and sat through a beautiful Italian Catholic wedding. It lasted for about an hour, and then we were off to the reception.
The reception was perfect--I mean, if I ever get married, I want mine to be EXACTLY like this. We drove to the seaside to a restaurant and hotel overlooking the sea. We were all ushered into the garden area--waterfalls, beautiful greenery, wooden bridges, stone archways, champagne, and the beginning of the greatest feast of my life. While the bride and groom took pictures by the sea and in the garden, the rest of us feasted: arrancini, fried balls of mashed potatoes with mozzarella inside, meatballs with mushrooms and cheese, fried bread (like hush puppies, only a million times better); a whole roast pig; fried sage. The crowning glory was the man making fresh mozzarella di bufala right in front of us. He stood over a vat of steaming, boiling salty milk mixture, and dipped his hands in to pull out a mass of stringy, steaming mozzarella. He dipped his hands in icy water, stretched a string of mozzarella out, tied it in a knot, pinched it off, and dripped it in chilled salt water. We used toothpicks to spear a piece of cheese and bring it, quivering, to our mouths--cold and salty on the outside, steaming and creamy and salty perfection once you took your first bite. It was absolute heaven. It was opulent even as Italians go, as everyone was oohing and aahing and taking pictures.
It was paradise--in a garden on the sea with Italian men in tuxedos bringing me more food and champagne than anyone could possibly consume. I was absolutely beside myself. It helped that I was American--everyone was anxious for me to try all of the food and coo over it. It also helped that Caterina had told everyone that I was from Hollywood, so they regarded me for a few seconds like some sort of glamorous movie star. I tried so hard not to laugh, but it was fantastic.
Okay, I've got to go--briefly, the meal then lasted 6 hours and included 13 separate appetizers, 3 primi, 3 secondi, and gelato. I'm in Modena with Cat's family--dinner guests just arrived!
Saturday, August 13, 2005
The Italian Wedding
Tiffany asked me, her mother, to post to her blog a short update on her travels. She is still in Puglia at the beach with Caterina, her Italian roommate from UGA. They do not have internet access at the villa, and the nearest seaside town has no internet cafe....
Today the girls attended the wedding of Caterina's friend. Italians wed in the morning for two reasons: (1) the beauty of the cathedrals in the morning light and (2) the extended opportunity to eat and drink all day. The appertif at the wedding party included a whole roasted pig with lots of spirits to wash it down. There was also a cheese concoction: hot, stringy mozzarella cheese, tied in a knot, and dipped in icy brine. Salty and cold outside, hot and creamy inside. Then there were the flash fried potato balls with mozzarella centers. Yum. Fried sage is served between eating forays to settle the stomach and clean the palate.
The many-coursed, hours-long meal was about to begin when Tif called this morning, so I know no more than that about the feast. I do know, however, that the wedding party was held on the shore of the Mediterranean Sea with beautiful waterfalls and gardens as a backdrop. Tif borrowed a black silk gown from Caterina for the event, for she surely took nothing appropriate for such a party with her in the little suitcase she packed.
It seems that the Italians wanted Tif to taste every dish since this was her first Italian wedding and especially since Caterina told them that she is from Hollywood, California. I do not know if she is actually impersonating some movie star, but Caterina is having a great time with the hoax.
Caterina's father is a mountain climber, and he is taking the girls on a hike near his home in Modena when Tif and Caterina leave the beach tomorrow. When Cat visited us at Lake Sinclair, we taught her to water ski. Apparently, they will return the favor with mountain climbing.
By August 20, Tif will join her UGA sorority sister, Andi, in her home in Denmark. (She married a great Dane--no pun intended-- and has moved to his hometown.) They will have lots of girl time and plan to travel to Norway and Sweden. By April 27, Tif will be in Paris to reunite with her old friends from LeMans where she lived and taught English for one year before entering law school. She returns home on August 31.
Tif asked that I tell all of you that she is having a wonderful time but that she misses the people she loves and enjoys most back here in the US.
Tif, I hope this posting suits you. Be safe and continue to call regularly. We love you!!
Mom
Today the girls attended the wedding of Caterina's friend. Italians wed in the morning for two reasons: (1) the beauty of the cathedrals in the morning light and (2) the extended opportunity to eat and drink all day. The appertif at the wedding party included a whole roasted pig with lots of spirits to wash it down. There was also a cheese concoction: hot, stringy mozzarella cheese, tied in a knot, and dipped in icy brine. Salty and cold outside, hot and creamy inside. Then there were the flash fried potato balls with mozzarella centers. Yum. Fried sage is served between eating forays to settle the stomach and clean the palate.
The many-coursed, hours-long meal was about to begin when Tif called this morning, so I know no more than that about the feast. I do know, however, that the wedding party was held on the shore of the Mediterranean Sea with beautiful waterfalls and gardens as a backdrop. Tif borrowed a black silk gown from Caterina for the event, for she surely took nothing appropriate for such a party with her in the little suitcase she packed.
It seems that the Italians wanted Tif to taste every dish since this was her first Italian wedding and especially since Caterina told them that she is from Hollywood, California. I do not know if she is actually impersonating some movie star, but Caterina is having a great time with the hoax.
Caterina's father is a mountain climber, and he is taking the girls on a hike near his home in Modena when Tif and Caterina leave the beach tomorrow. When Cat visited us at Lake Sinclair, we taught her to water ski. Apparently, they will return the favor with mountain climbing.
By August 20, Tif will join her UGA sorority sister, Andi, in her home in Denmark. (She married a great Dane--no pun intended-- and has moved to his hometown.) They will have lots of girl time and plan to travel to Norway and Sweden. By April 27, Tif will be in Paris to reunite with her old friends from LeMans where she lived and taught English for one year before entering law school. She returns home on August 31.
Tif asked that I tell all of you that she is having a wonderful time but that she misses the people she loves and enjoys most back here in the US.
Tif, I hope this posting suits you. Be safe and continue to call regularly. We love you!!
Mom
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Bankers, Porto San Rocco, Scott the Wolf, Weddings, Romans, and the Beach
Hi, everyone! Sorry I haven't written... I haven't really had access to a computer. I also don't have a whole lot of time right now, but here goes the cool stuff, too briefly to do it justice:
- I met a neat older lady on the flight from Rome to Venice. We chatted easily (in English) and struck up quite a little friendship on the plane. I thought she was seventy or so, and she was full of life, vigor, energy, and mischief. At the end of the plane trip, she asked if she could give me her phone and address, and if I would ring her when I came to Rome, London, Biarritz, Cortina, or Lazio. I gladly accepted, but didn't quite understand the deal with all the different places. She then explained that she had houses in all of these places and spent her time among the different locales, all of which are quite exclusive if you own property. Wheels started turning... she must be somewhat wealthy. As it turns out... she's a banker and heiress (!!!) and is truly a lady of leisure. Wow. Boy, will I conatact her when I'm in any of those places! I wondered why she was flying on an airline instead of traveling by more chic means, but she answered my question before I could ask it--she's a major stock owner in Alitalia and can fly at a moment's notice. Her driver was waiting for her in Venice and it was easier for him to get to that airport than any other place on such short notice. Imagine! Then she winked at me and asked how old I was. I told her I was 26, and she said I looked younger. Then she said, "Ah, you are young!" She pinched my derriere, told me I had a good figure, and told me to go enjoy the Italian men while I was young! What a character. Then she said, "In December, I will be 89... and still I enjoy life more each day than the one before. Live! And come visit me and tell me about your travels." I was stunned--I would swear she was only 70. She winked at me and was escorted off the plane to meet her driver. Wow.
- Porto San Rocco and Trieste were beautiful. I was hoping Nonna (the Italian grandmother) would cook for us, but sadly, Umberto and Luciana are on some sort of diet and eat only health food. So my dreams of a heaping, steaming bowl of pasta and copious amounts of wine were thwarted for vegetable soup, spelt, and fresh vegetables. It was still wonderful--just not quite the cuisine I'd hoped for. We stayed at Porto San Rocco in a fabulous apartment--probably 1200 square feet, a 2-2 with hardwood floors, high ceilings, a wraparound veranda, and plenty of luxury. Caterina met me in Trieste and we stayed there for two days, and then headed inland to her hometown, Modena, to pack, pick up her friend Maria (Meri) , and catch a train down to the beach. The train ride was 9 hours long and ... miserable! It was completely packed with vacationing Italians, but it was quite an adventure. We didn't have seats, so we slept in the floor of the train. We arrived in Lecce where Caterina's friends, Sebbastiano and Tina, met us at the station and took us to rent a car. We're down South for Sebba and Tina's wedding on Saturday the 13th, which should be amazing--Caterina is calling it "the Godfather wedding" because the mafia is quite real in the South, and these are two very old and established Southern families marrying. I can't WAIT!!! At the car rental place, we met a lady who had the most beautiful puppy I'd ever, ever seen. Elegant, poised, intelligent, responsive, obedient, and there was something in his eyes that was sizing you up; something that made him more of a rival or a true companion than a pet, though he was perfectly obedient--actually, much more than most dogs. I chatted with the lady and asked about the dog-- "No, no," she corrected me. "He is a wolf. He's 3 months old, and his name is Scott." I was absolutely captivated. A wolf! It was the predator I saw in his eyes that made him a rival--he was absolutely mesmerising. Caterina saw how fascinated I was and her friend Meri took pictures of me playing with the wolf. There was something so much more intelligent about him than any domesticated animal, and it was the raw instinct; the wild animal whose greatest instinct is self-preservation... It was absolutely amazing. Yes, I want a wolf now. Yes, Mom and Dad, I know that I can't have one. But I will never forget looking into his eyes and seeing an equal; a rival; a true companion that demands respect.
- So we went to the beach house, and it's actually more of a country house than anything else. It's nice and cool, and very quiet. We found a little domesticated rabbit who'd clearly escaped from his home, and we've taken him in. As cute as he is, he's a little bit of trouble--he keeps wanting to bite us; I'm sure he doesn't understand that we are trying to save his life from the highway, and we're trying to find his owner. Since he's a little ornery, I have named him Stew... as in rabbit stew... lest he get a little too cocky. It's always good to remind him of his place. I think that on some primal level, he knows what stew means. =)
- We've spent every day so far at the beach, and it's beautiful! We're all quite tanned, and we've met some great people. We met a group of Roman guys--a lawyer, a doctoral candidate in economics, a fitness instructor/ massage therapist, and (my favorite!) a high school teacher who is going to the Italian naval academy (like West Point) in September. Let's just say that life is BEAUTIFUL... they took us out salsa dancing until dawn, and the next day we met on the beach again. They invited us to their house, cooked dinner for us, gave us massages, and then took us first to a big shooting star / bonfire / fireworks party (Called Festa San Lorenzo) on the beach at midnight, and then we went salsa dancing again, until 5am. The club was outdoors and beautiful, and then we all spread towels on the sand, listening to the salsa music and the waves, and slept in a crumpled heap. I mean, wow. I lay there, half asleep, looking up at the stars through wine-starry eyes, full of pasta the Romans cooked for us, and nestled into the towel and all of our friends, who were curled together in the cool night air. Life is... amazing. I thought of the Dave Mathews song, "Tripping Billies"--"I remember out on the beaches we wore pineapple grass bracelets... Now we sit, legs crossed 'round the fire, my yellow flame, she dances... tequila drinking, oh, our minds will wander to won'drous places. So why would you care to get out of this place? You and me and all our friends; such a happy human race..." Hah! Beautiful, beautiful vacation.
- We've gone out dancing almost every night, and tonight we will again! It's Tina's bachelorette party, and we're going first for dinner and then... you guessed it... dancing! It should be fantastic. It's also quite fun for me because of my Mediterranean heritage--mostly visible in my skin tone and eyes. Everyone thinks I'm Italian (until I open my mouth!), and once they figure out that I'm not, they all want to teach me to dance / speak Italian / appreciate the local area. It's fantastic to be a foreigner and have an accent--I'm so much more interesting here than I am in the States! Maybe I'll just start pretending that I'm foreign when I'm in America, just for fun.
- It's the season of local festivals, called sagra, and we've been to several. My favorite was a little local dance festival for the danced called pizzicati. It's a true courtship dance, almost Celtic in nature, where the woman leads the man in a playful dance-chase to mandolin, violin, bodhran, guitar, and flute. It's magic! We danced and danced and danced... and quite unexpectedly, one of the musicians from the stage came off the stage and asked me to dance with him! not on the stage, of course, but on teh floor. It was great... he was from the tiny town and was a fantastic dancer. So are the salsa dancers around here... I'm amazed at how popular Latin dance is, and how good people are at it. And there are about an equal number of men and women who dance, so you change partners all the time and really, really learn a lot. It's such a carefree, whimsical, fun atmosphere!
- We will stay at the beach until the 15th of August at least. The wedding is the 13th, and after that is a huge party called Ferragosto. It's kind of like New Year's Eve and 4th of July all rolled in to one, and there will be once again bonfires and fireworks on the beach. Beautiful. Simply beautiful!
So that's the quick, quick version! I'm planning on going back to Modena with Caterina and Meri, staying there for a day or so to see the area, and then striking off on my own to France for a little while, adn then up to Denmark to visit my friends there. I love to be with friends, but it will be very nice to spend a little time alone, traveling, to gather my thoughts and just enjoy being alone and anonymous. I'll sit in cafes and drink espresso and write, read, or just people-watch. I'm meeting my French friend, Jean-Claude, in Paris on the 28th, and then I fly home on the 31st. So life is really pretty amazing. I want to spend a few days in Paris to visit places I've never been--principally museums--I really want to go to the smaller museums and bring a sketchbook and doodle some. I'm really a terrible artist, but I love to try! It's calming and soothing somehow, to create something that's your own. And there's something about a graphic medium that feels more expressive and free to me than writing --it's boundless and formless, and no matter what it looks like, it's yours. And you always remember what you were thinking and feeling when you created it. I guess a picture's worth a thousand words, even if only to the wannabe artist!
It feels SO GOOD to have written and to be in contact with people! I miss my friends and family so much. I love being here--I really do--but I am definitely an American girl, and my home, my life, my family, most of the people I love are in the States, and I can't wait to get back home and see everyone, and in a sense, start my new life. Work! Midtown! Susie (boy, I miss that puppy...)! Friends! Family! Local concerts! Discovering new places, like the Cuban restaurant! Guitar! Dance and Italian classes at Emory! My very own life, whatever shape it takes. Travel and vacation are great--nothing can replace its value--but it is always so beautiful to return home, to your own place. I am so excited to start this new chapter in my life, to be settled indefinitely in a place for the first time in 8 or 9 years. I want to grow roots in Atlanta and make it home, which is a luxury that the student simply doesn't have. I am bubbly happy just thinking about what's ahead, and what makes all the difference to me is knowing the people I love and will come to know will be close by.
So please email or post to the blog or, if you're feeling wealthy (which i decidedly am NOT, by the way--the exchange rate is murder!) , give me a call! This vacation has been exactly what I wanted and needed, a break in which I don't have to think or make any decisions (the biggest decision I've made so far is which kind of tanning cream to put on and which earrings to wear...). l return soon to the things I really do need, that help make my life wonderful--the people I love.
Love,
Tif
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Here and There
This is a message from Tiffany's mother, Shelly. We spoke today and she asked that I give everyone an update.
She has traveled with Caterina and Maria, her Italian friends, to Puglia where she is staying in a villa near the beach. The house is lovely, the beach wonderful, and life is good. But she is without internet access. They have rented a car to drive into town to shop, but there are no internet cafes there, either.
First, important messages:
To Andi DiMaria in Denmark: Tif needs you to call her and give her your telephone number. You can reach Tif on her Italian cell phone at 39-334-967-8259. (Anyone else who wants to call can do so if you can afford it. All incoming calls on cell phones in Italy are free to the receiving party.....)
To Jean Claude in France: Tif received your message and plans to meet you in Paris on August 28 as you suggested. She will be in touch as soon as she can get to a computer.
To the Emmanuel Family: Tif got your message and has learned that she will miss seeing you. You return home to Le Mans on August 31, the same day she departs Venice to return to the USA. She is sad to have come so close and not seen you.
To All the Friends Who Have Emailed: Tif can't read your messages now, but she will when she is able.
Back to the travels...
Tif and company spend their days on the beautiful beaches of southern Italy. This is the season of local festivals, and there are bonfires and food and dancing on the beaches at night. The foods are lcoal favorites and the dance is traditional. But tonight they salsa! The girls are meeting others for a night of salsa dancing at a local club. As Tiffany says, "Yippee!"
The girls will attend the wedding of Caterina's friend on August 14 and the bachelorette party the night before. That should be a story in itself. August 14 is some sort of national holiday (forgive my ignorance) that is celebrated as we in the US celebrate New Years. Fireworks, parties, dancing, the works...all on the wedding day. Good planning.
After the 14th, Tif will travel north with Caterina for a short time in Italy and then go on to Denmark to see Andi. Then she will return to France to see Jean Claude and others there. Much to her mother's chagrin, she plans to stay a while in France, traveling on her own, seeing and doing whatever strikes her. She knows she must call everyday or I will call Interpol....again. But that is another story.
Hugs to everyone, Tif included.
She has traveled with Caterina and Maria, her Italian friends, to Puglia where she is staying in a villa near the beach. The house is lovely, the beach wonderful, and life is good. But she is without internet access. They have rented a car to drive into town to shop, but there are no internet cafes there, either.
First, important messages:
To Andi DiMaria in Denmark: Tif needs you to call her and give her your telephone number. You can reach Tif on her Italian cell phone at 39-334-967-8259. (Anyone else who wants to call can do so if you can afford it. All incoming calls on cell phones in Italy are free to the receiving party.....)
To Jean Claude in France: Tif received your message and plans to meet you in Paris on August 28 as you suggested. She will be in touch as soon as she can get to a computer.
To the Emmanuel Family: Tif got your message and has learned that she will miss seeing you. You return home to Le Mans on August 31, the same day she departs Venice to return to the USA. She is sad to have come so close and not seen you.
To All the Friends Who Have Emailed: Tif can't read your messages now, but she will when she is able.
Back to the travels...
Tif and company spend their days on the beautiful beaches of southern Italy. This is the season of local festivals, and there are bonfires and food and dancing on the beaches at night. The foods are lcoal favorites and the dance is traditional. But tonight they salsa! The girls are meeting others for a night of salsa dancing at a local club. As Tiffany says, "Yippee!"
The girls will attend the wedding of Caterina's friend on August 14 and the bachelorette party the night before. That should be a story in itself. August 14 is some sort of national holiday (forgive my ignorance) that is celebrated as we in the US celebrate New Years. Fireworks, parties, dancing, the works...all on the wedding day. Good planning.
After the 14th, Tif will travel north with Caterina for a short time in Italy and then go on to Denmark to see Andi. Then she will return to France to see Jean Claude and others there. Much to her mother's chagrin, she plans to stay a while in France, traveling on her own, seeing and doing whatever strikes her. She knows she must call everyday or I will call Interpol....again. But that is another story.
Hugs to everyone, Tif included.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
The eagle has landed
I just arrived after an uneventful--and even relaxing--trip. Just knowing that a month of friends and relaxation awaits me, the entire trip has already felt like vacation. Wine on the plane; a solid 6-hour sleep in my seat; life is good! I met a fantastic elderly couple on the plane to Rome (I fly ATL, Detroit, Rome, Venice--I'm in Rome now)--they have been married forever, as far as I could tell, and they travel all over the place: the States; the Nile; Mexico every year --where the Mrs. goes parasailing, at age 70, and relentlessly tries to get her husband to join her, but he says he's holding out for Tunisia for his first parasailing adventure On hearing this, I sang the praises of my visit to Tunisia, both the sea and the desert. "That sounds fantastic!" the wife said. And with a twinkle in her eye, added, "Buckle in, honey--that parasailing trip just got closer." As we parted ways in Rome (they are going to Portugal this trip, because "the pictures are so pretty, we thought we'd go"), the Mr. waved at me and called across the terminal, "See you in Tunisia!" They were fantastic.
I'm at a free internet spot in the airport, awaiting my connection to Venice. The keys on the keyboard were designed for Hagrid or someone with much stronger fingers than I have. So briefly (before my fingers fall off), here's the coolest stuff so far: 1. I am SO RELAXED. It is fantastic. 2. Travel, I have realized, has become more about the precious friends I spend time with than the places I see. "Turns out, not where you are but who you're with that really matters... "(dave mathews). I didn't even buy my signature "Let's Go!" travel guide. It's insignificant this time around. I want to see the people I love and have so little time with. 3. My Italian is a lot better than I thought it was, and evidently, so is my comportment: people speak Italian to me and do not switch to English when I speak. Sometimes I ask for English, and they ask, "Why?" Makes me feel great. 4. My French is still good. Eavesdropping is as natural now as it was when I lived in France. My own speech is not--but I definitely understand French with not much effort. 5. I bought a great tee shirt for Luvi, the Italian five year-old. It's from Fernbank's "Grossology" exhibit--gross anatomy for kids. The shirt is black and has glow-in-the-dark skeleton, muscles, and connective tissues. Luvi's mom, Raff, is very Gucci/Prada/Fendi chic. She will hate the shirt, but Luvi wil LOVE it, as will her dad and grandmother (Dad is Andrea, grandma is Luciana). I can't WAIT to give it to her!
I'm going to find my departure gate and have my first beautiful, wonderful truly Italian espresso.
With barely attached fingers and love,
Tif
I'm at a free internet spot in the airport, awaiting my connection to Venice. The keys on the keyboard were designed for Hagrid or someone with much stronger fingers than I have. So briefly (before my fingers fall off), here's the coolest stuff so far: 1. I am SO RELAXED. It is fantastic. 2. Travel, I have realized, has become more about the precious friends I spend time with than the places I see. "Turns out, not where you are but who you're with that really matters... "(dave mathews). I didn't even buy my signature "Let's Go!" travel guide. It's insignificant this time around. I want to see the people I love and have so little time with. 3. My Italian is a lot better than I thought it was, and evidently, so is my comportment: people speak Italian to me and do not switch to English when I speak. Sometimes I ask for English, and they ask, "Why?" Makes me feel great. 4. My French is still good. Eavesdropping is as natural now as it was when I lived in France. My own speech is not--but I definitely understand French with not much effort. 5. I bought a great tee shirt for Luvi, the Italian five year-old. It's from Fernbank's "Grossology" exhibit--gross anatomy for kids. The shirt is black and has glow-in-the-dark skeleton, muscles, and connective tissues. Luvi's mom, Raff, is very Gucci/Prada/Fendi chic. She will hate the shirt, but Luvi wil LOVE it, as will her dad and grandmother (Dad is Andrea, grandma is Luciana). I can't WAIT to give it to her!
I'm going to find my departure gate and have my first beautiful, wonderful truly Italian espresso.
With barely attached fingers and love,
Tif
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Welcome to my travel blog!
So this is my first-ever exploration into the world of blogs! I'm getting ready to take my last-ever (or at least for a really, really long time) month-long vacation. For all of my other travels, I've sent long emails out to friends. This time, everyone can just come visit the blog if they'd like to know what's going on... and be spared the largely pointless emails clogging their inboxes! So here's my first installment...
I leave for my European tour Tuesday morning. Though I originally had two travel companions, I'll be flying solo for the trip, which lasts from Aug 2-31. I am so very excited! It will be wonderful to visit old friends when I arrive and then travel around Europe with them. Traveling alone will let me catch up with everyone, and it will give me the time to think, write, and reflect before I join the working world in September.
I fly in to Venice; my Italian friends pick me up at the airport, and we go to Trieste; and my friend Caterina will meet me in Trieste. Cate and I will stay in an apartment at Porto San Rocco, and then she and I will take a tour of Southern Italy and end up in a beach house in Puglia for a friend's wedding. From there, I hope to make it to France, Brussels, and Denmark to visit
various friends. I'd love to make it to Spain and Prague, but I'm not sure I'm ready to take on those places traveling alone. So we'll see! Hope you enjoy the narratives.Tif
Photos:
Top: Caterina and Tif at a friend's wedding last October.
Below: Tif, Luvi (Ludovica, the cutest five year-old in the world), Raffaella, and my mother in Vidalia. These are our oldest, dearest Italian "family" friends, who live in Trieste. This photo was taken a year ago, so Luvi is much more grown up now...
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