If you’re even a casual fan of bike racing you probably know about the three Grand Tours (Italy, France, Spain) and what a spectacle they are. For three weeks, the race, with its cyclists, support staff, officials, media, and multiple other entities roll around the country in a huge caravan that is unequal parts race, event and circus. Fans who, like myself, have never seen a race of this magnitude should be forgiven for thinking it’s all about the riders and the race. It’s not. It’s about the entertainment, whatever can be associated with the race, no matter how loosely, with the riders playing but one part in the production. In tandem are concerts, publicity events, a traveling expo, art exhibitions, city-wide parties, and any number of ways to part the public from their Euros. And each day it’s repeated in a new town. Grandissimo!
I digress here for a moment. The Giro d’Italia is often credited as being one of three major factors that helped unite the newly reformed republic from a collection of disparate regions into a (sort-of) single entity. The other two are gelato and scooters. Just kidding. The other two are actually the military and television. Basta! Enough of the history lessons.
We left work at 15.15 on Thursday to drive the 30 kilometers south along the coast to Porto Recanati hoping to navigate the traffic, road closures and crowds in time to catch some of Stage 12. In fact, efficiency was the word of the day and we arrived with time enough to spare to enjoy a gelato and watch the final 40 kilometers of the race on the big screen TV set-up on the podium.
While we watched and waited, the energy from the pink clad fans, live and loud narration of the race, a blaring DJ, and the on-site broadcast of the Rai 3 studio show featuring il grillo himself, former world champion Paulo Bettini made for a skin-tingling experience.
Italian legend, Olympic Champion, World Champion: Paulo Bettini. And that's former professional"il falcone" Paulo Salvodelli to his right.
We took up places in the front row along the barriers about 50 meters past the finish line and had a perfect view of the break-away and grupetto the first time they came through to begin a 20 kilometer loop around the town prior to the final sprint for the stage. The crowd grew anxious when the big break containing several strong Italians got away in the last 12 kilometers and they went bananas when Filippo Pozzato, Italian national champion, won the stage giving Italy its first victory in this year’s edition of the race. Go here for a detailed stage report and race photos.
Real riders, in a real Grand Tour! The break-away with 20 km to go.
Tyler Farrar in the red points jersey.
"Yeah for me, I win!" Filippo Pozatto takes the victory.
The riders disappear almost immediately after finishing, except for those involved in the podium presentations or who have media obligations.
"I win. Now give me a stuffed animal and kiss me!"
You know what they say about a woman with a big Visa card? Big purse.
We wandered around for a couple hours taking in all the associated distractions and amusements and within three hours of the stage finish it was difficult to tell the race had ever been there save for the pink decorations in all the shops and the last bits of trash being swept from the streets. It really was a fantastic experience, both as a passionate fan of professional racing and the riders as well as an enthralled participant in the spectacle.
On Friday I was looking through the race report photos on Cyclingnews.com. Turns out, I'm in one of them. But you have to squint. Really squint. In the lower-right, jutting out from above the rider's white helmet is a disemboweled hand holding a camera aloft. That's my hand and my camera!
On Saturday, Inter plays Bayern in the Champion’s League final. And that’s no joke. I’ll be watching it in Fabriano before going to a free Sinead O’Connor concert. Eh, it’s free. Why not?
Today I take a break from my normal routine - in-depth, serious analysis of life in Italy - in order to tackle an equally serious subject: What IS this? Quite simply, I'm stunned. Michael Wendler, German superstar. His video melts my brain. So many questions.
A little later we're headed south to Porto Recanti (information is in Italian for added authenticity!) to take in one of those “must do “ experiences (like eating gelato or applying for an extension to your visa) one must do if they move to Italy: watching the Giro! We’ll see if we can locate the finish line for Stage 12 in time to see Tyler Farrar sprint for another victory. Story and photos to come providing we get there in time. Stage 13 goes right through the middle of Ancona on Friday. Depending on who you listen to, the roads will be closed starting from 9.00, 10.00, 10.00-ish, or around 10.30. It should be a grand, fantastic mess and I hope to be in the middle of it.
Wednesday night Raimondo came home from his tango lesson around 11.30 and asked if I felt like getting a quick beer. Even on a school night, 11.30 is when people start thinking about going out and although my skin had already started turning its customary pumpkin orange for that time of night I decided to go. Yeah me!
We went to our new favorite pub, the name of which is unknown to me, but whose atmosphere evokes memories of The Cork although sadly without the bacon blue or Luke's cars flying off the table. We ordered beers and the now customary glasses of vodka in honor of his future Russian wife. There was a table of three women sitting near us and Raimondo decided it would be a good idea to buy them vodka as well. He asked the waiter not to make a big deal of it when he delivered the drinks. Like a true professional he brought the order and went on to tell them that the bartender had sent them over! Incredibly subtle – not making a big deal of it indeed! Raimondo turned red with impotent rage, I couldn’t stop laughing, and the women were very appreciative. Truly the sultry art of romance thrives late at night in Ancona bars. The topper was when the bartender charged Raimondo for the drinks at the end of the night. A real spacca stronsi.
On Saturday, Vayla and I went to Rimini Wellness 2010 in Rimini. Since it was once again raining biblically (I'm confident we aren't very far from a storm featuring locusts and frogs falling from the sky) it was a good day to be indoors although it was a terrible day to be driving on the autostrada or walking the one kilometer from the parking lot to the expo center. Lothar had told me on Friday that this fair was the biggest of its kind in Italy so I thought I was prepared, but I wasn't prepared.
During the drive we decided to stop for a coffee and the first place we tried to go to, the parking lot was completely full and there was a line of people out the door waiting to get in, along with several large touring buses in the parking lot. A strange site for 9.00 on a Saturday and no way the coffee at a rest stop restaurant was good enough to draw a crowd. Most people were wearing tennis shoes and sweats or workout gear of some sort. Also a strange site. The same thing happened at the second rest stop we stopped tried. We finally found room at the third. By then it was sinking in just how big this show was going to be. People had booked tour buses to bring their groups to the show! It takes about an hour to drive from Ancona to Rimini. It took another hour in traffic to cover the 7 kilometers from the autostrada to the expo center.
Rimini Wellness 2010 is a huge expo for all kinds of indoor gym and fitness equipment - and by all kinds I literally mean every kind you can possibly think of and many you couldn't think of but someone else had thought of it did and they were at the expo trying to sell it. In fact it appears that hammocks are now some sort of exercise craze. Like any expo of this kind, the vendors are there to demo and sell equipment. But it soon became apparent why everyone was wearing workout wear. It wasn't to fit in. It was to workout! All the equipment was available to try and test in organized sessions. There were classes and organized workouts being offered all day long in any discipline: yoga, Pilate's, running, walking, aerobics, weight-lifting, step, spinning, pole dancing aerobics, hip hop, tai chi, boxing, something with a bag full of sand, and something with a stick. Imagine five LARGE expo halls full of equipment, tournaments for footy, kickboxing, boxing, and karate, aerobics and step classes with at least 500 people participating, two spinning classes with a few hundred bikes each, indoor pools with water aerobics classes going on, even LiveStrong was there with something called a Krank. Completely overwhelming. Insane. It was like visiting the world's largest gym.
There must have been over 1000 people in this step class.
Everything you could think of, and maybe somethings you didn't...
Vayla's first golf swing. Notice the follow through. And the little white ball still on the tee.
A Lazy Sunday Afternoon
Sunday afternoon in the US this time of year probably means basketball, baseball and maybe some golf on the TV. Fairly typical. In Italy it meant the F1 Grand Prix from Monte Carlo, Giro d'Italia, and Superbike from South Africa. Lots of choices but all of them overshadowed by football.
It's all soccer almost all the time right now. World Cup is coming and the publicity and even propaganda to get people excited for the national team are in full swing. On Sunday, Serie A finished. Roma trailed Inter by 2 points going into the final weekend. If Inter lost or tied and Roma won, Roma won the title. If Inter won their match, they won the league. Against Siena, a team headed to the lower division next year, they triumphed 1-0 on a late goal by Milito and so won the league. Inter have already won the Italian club tournament, now they have the Serie A trophy. Next weekend is the Champion's League final. If Inter win that they win the treble and they become even more obnoxious than they are already. They are playing Bayern Munich who have also won their league and club titles.
Inter are like the Yankees only more popular. Lots more popular. At least in Italy. They buy the best talent (the starting 11 didn't include an Italian which is a bit of a scandal), the best coach (the self-proclaimed "The Special One", Jose Morinho) and beat up on all the nerds in the playground. Literally minutes after the game ended a few thousand fans here in Ancona gathered in Piazza del Popolo to celebrate. There was the usual singing and waving of flags along with cars full of fans sounding their horns all around the town center with banners streaming from the windows. Scooters and motorcycles too. In Milan, where Inter are from, there were tens of thousands of fans in the Piazza del Duomo going nuts. And while quite rowdy it was never violent. Strangely, no cars were torched or stores vandalized like when the Lakers win. Go figure.
BOO!
The Giro d'Italia There is a little bike race going on in Italy right now. It's the Tour of Italy and the Italians are having a rough go of it so far. No stage wins, struggles from their favorite sons, and scant few podium appearances. So while the tifosi (fans) are restless it's still a celebration of the country.
Later this week (Thursday and Friday) the race comes racing through these parts. On Thursday the stage finishes in Porto Recanati just a few kilometers to the south of Ancona. On Friday it actually comes through the middle of town before finishing farther north. The plan for now is to catch parts of both stages and I'm hoping that works out.
Save Greece! Take A Holiday
There is nothing like the feeling of helping others, especially when it helps you too. Like donating your 15 year old used jeans from high school to Goodwill and claiming a $75.00 value for them on your tax return - everyone wins! If you've been paying attention to international news lately, and I don't mean the weekly results for this show then you know Greece isn't doing to well. They need all the help they can get. And tourists help. And you can be a tourist. I recently found out that I can use a house for free on the island of Santorini. This one not this one. So if you're interested in a holiday, and you weren't sure where to go, may I be so modest as to recommend Greece. Help me help you help them. Did I mention the Free House? You're welcome.
On recent occasion, I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ll tell you why. I’ve been waking up in the middle night, and not to pee, which is not my normal pattern. Usually I can sleep through the night. Or rather, I am being woken up in the middle of the night. By pop songs. In my head. The song is so loud that it wakes me up. One night it was Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus. Another night it was Tik Tok by Ke$ha. I can usually go right back to sleep but it’s a little disturbing to wake-up at four am with “Tick tock on the clock/But the party don’t stop, no.” echoing in my head. And then when I wake-up the song usually sticks around for the first couple hours before evaporating. Much like the Italian I studied the night before usually does. I haven’t been able to find a reason for what’s happening (admittedly my research amounts to me writing this sentence) so let me know your theories.
About 16 minutes ago it was sunny with blue skies and playful, fluffy clouds. Spring innocence personified. In the past three minutes, gallons of gray paint were splashed across the heavens, heavy thunder grumbled forth and it’s now raining biblically. The locals say we’ve had an unusually cool and wet spring. This is my first spring in Ancona so I’m not going to argue. For me it’s been a lot like Portland is this time of year so I haven’t really noticed. Because of the sea, it’s a lot more salty and humid here, the kind of weather we call swampy or muggy and the Italians call afoso. I blame the volcano.
Speaking of blaming the volcano, Raimondo received a 28-hour train ride as a present from said volcano. He was in Berlin for work last week and his return flight was cancelled due to the “plume of ash”. Rather than wait to see if he could make it onto a flight the next morning (which in hindsight he should have) he boarded the train which took him through Munich, Austria, Venice, and Bologna before finally arriving in Ancona.
Speaking of Raimondo, I did something stupid Tuesday night. I went running. With Raimondo. (The running part was stupid; running with Raimondo was actually quite smart.) He has been training for a race in June and has been running a couple times a week for the last few months. Last night I decided to join him. He has also been doing curls using his bed as a weight to build arm strength. I decided not to join him for that. I’ve been inspired to run by his workouts, the fact that I don’t have a bike yet and by my sister’s amazing exploits. But let’s be clear, eight months in Italy where I’ve run once, done a fair bit of walking, and spent 13 days snowboarding leaves me ill suited to any sort of running.
A really long time ago I used to be a runner. A pretty good one too. But that was 15 pouds and years ago and I am not a runner anymore even if the zit popping adolescent in my head keeps insisting I am and peer pressures me into overdoing it whenever I start-up again. However, running with Raimondo helped me avoid my typical routine which includes telling myself such motivational bon mots as “ok, on this next hill we’re really going to push it”, and “c’mon wuss, is that all you got”, and “your breathing sounds like a walrus in heat”. He set the perfect, steady pace and by following him I was able to go for about 45 minutes, feel good the whole time and avoid the usual litany of pains that normally accompany my runs after a prolonged hiatus. Wednesday morning I was able to walk upright and contemplate the idea of another run next month. Along the trail where we were running were some bushes with little white flowers. Raimondo said they were edible and ate a few of them as we were running. Later that night he suffered a pretty severe case of what we’ll politely call “severe white flower stomach distress” so guess who I’m not going to trust for survival advice if we’re ever lost in the woods?
I went running again Thursday night, by myself, and again avoided maiming myself. I did however notice a weird phenomenon. My back fat started itching. After about 10 minutes I had a distinct itching sensation in the back fat region. Is this common?
Make a note: His race is in June and is on trampoli (stilts)! Apparently, millions of years ago or something there was a flood in his town and the men used stilts to ward off evil eels or carry bread cross the river or fight a battle. I’m a bit hazy on the details, but ever since, the town has had a festival each year and the festival features this race on stilts to commemorate (mock?) their brave ancestors. Like I said, I’m hazy on the details. The race is a 200 meter sprint and I think beer is included but maybe just for the spectators. Last year Raimondo finished dead last in a field that included a few eight year olds and a grandma with one leg who hopped the whole way. So this year he is on strict training plan including the above mentioned bed lifts, and is adamant about beating at least the eight year olds. I’ll report back as the hilarity ensues.
A few weeks ago I went back to Ponte di Legno with the boys from the original "White Days" trip in February. Which must have made this more recent weekend "White Days II, Even Whiter"? When I was leaving Valentina told me to take lots of pictures but would I please not take the typical ones of people standing around in the snow with mountains in the background. Maybe try to take something a little different. She had a point. So while I did take lots of the usual pictures of people standing around in snow with mountains in the background (because let’s face it, that’s where most of the action on a ski trip happens), I also tried to get a few other photos. So in deference to my friend, and what I'm sure you will agree is a really delightful change of pace, no pictures of snow and mountains. Enjoy…
But first you will indulge me in a brief detour. Part of the reason we went was it was the last weekend of the season. In February, we were skiing off-piste on this slope looking for sweet jumps. In April, we were counting the number of broken ski poles below the lift and making appreciative noises as Stefano described the different wildflowers.
Now we can rejoin the autostrada that is the central theme of this post. This is the pizza I had on Friday night. A margarita base with rucola and tomatoes covered with fresh grated Grana. Wood fired and a crust that didn't start leaking in the middle from the sauce like so many of the pizzas here do.
This is Stefano's pizza. Also a margarita base with Bresaola, a type of cured beef, with wild mushrooms.
For lunch on Saturday we ate on the mountain. We were drawn here by the smell of charred meats, the sun and a big deck. A grill, a tap, and the option of steak, sausage or wurstel. Mmm, you had me at grill. We ate at about 2500 meters. For some reason mountain food always seems to taste better. Don't get me started on mountain chocolate. I had this simple panino with a piece of grilled steak and it was fantastic. The beer (and the view which I’m not allowed to show you) certainly helped.
With the sun shining, spring skiing quickly turned into spring hydroplaning, so we packed it in and headed into town for aprés ski here. (You can't see us because we're not in the picture but imagine us sitting on the deck just above where the two rivers are coming together. Go ahead, imagine, it's good for you.)
A couple of cocktails, the one on the left is the house specialty and the other is a spritz. (No sarcastic comments about the frou frou drinks please, these are quite common to the region. Just point your pinky skyward and enjoy.)
A platter (plank?) of local cheeses and cured meats and a basket (bushel?) of local bread...
And another panino featuring some more of that bresaola and what you have is an acceptable way to end the day.
We didn't feel like going out for dinner Saturday night so four boys decided to see what we could cook. Turns out what we could cook was pretty tasty (even if you can't tell from the photo) but I couldn't figure out if this cooking skill is known or kept secret from the wives. I was also too distracted to take pictures of everything so what you see is the main dish: orecchiette (translation: "little ears" so named because of their shape, it's a pasta typical of Puglia) in a gorgonzola (made locally) cream sauce with speck and radicchio (picked fresh that day or at least it better have been for what the lady charged us). What you don't see is the bruschetta toasted in the wood stove and topped with spicey anchovies and drizzled with olive oil. Or the dessert of fresh strawberries and yogurt with whipped cream.
The forecast for Sunday predicted fog, low clouds and rain in Ponte di Legno where we were staying and fog, low clouds and snow in Tonale where the last open lifts were. The forecast was correct. We couldn't see a thing when we woke-up. We were all blind, stumbling around and bumping into the furniture! The priest said that would happen if we weren't careful. The conditions worsened as we drove to Tonale so no skiing for us, but at least it was snowing which boded well for Monday. The french fries, roast beef and beer I had for lunch helped quash, quell, disperse the disappointment of the weather and knowing what was in store for dinner that night almost totally assuaged the boo-boo of disappointment.
For dinner on Sunday we were going to Ristorante Kro (please watch the video, it's a little surreal but kind of cool) in Temù which is just down the road from Ponte di Legno. Stefano goes here just about every time he is in town and they know him well there. Fortunately, they didn't hold that against the rest of us. They treated us fabulously and the food was outstanding. The experience was a lot like a Portland dining experience but in a good way. I started with the canederli con capuccio fresco e pancetta croccante o in brodo. Canederli, very loosely, are a dumpling made with bread, egg, milk, speck and onion and can be served in broth (brodo) or not. Mine were not and came with pancetta and sourkraut (sour Germans) instead.
Stefano's hand-made tagliatelle con funghi e tartufo della valle (local mushrooms and truffles).
To follow my canederli I had Tagliata di angus Scozzese al bitto con patate which is just a delicious way to say sliced steak from Scotland with roasted potatoes.
Also on the menu were dishes featuring pork, horse or deer. The deer (cervo) was served with polenta, wild mushrooms (delinquents, they really knew how to party) and pomegranate (melagrana).
It's white asparagus season and while the Austrians really go crazy for it (seriously, they go nuts) they are also quite popular in Lombardia (the asparagus, not the Austrians). This is white asparagus with fried egg and shaved black truffle.
After all that was foisted upon us by the fine folks of Kro came the desserts. And I can't be bothered to try and describe them. Well, yes I can, sort of. First mine, a sort of cloud-like, soft meringue (not merengue) in a sort of creamy, anglaisey type thing.
And this is a sort-of chocolate cake with a sort-of mint ice cream if I'm not mistaken.
Oh I give up.
This is Barbara. She owns the restaurant with her husband Gabriele (that's Stefano; Gabriele is in the kitchen cooking my dinner). She is fantastic. They both are. They are renovating the building so they can offer rooms for rent. They snowboard (told you they are fantastic) which is slowing down the renovation process. And they are really passionate about what they do which in this case is serving some of the best food I've ever had.
The miserable storm Sunday left in time for a Monday with bluebird skies, a heaping pile of new snow and perfect conditions. We started early, stayed late and I later calculated that I got close to 25,000 vertical feet that day. An absolutely stunning way to end the season.
Ok, I lied. I couldn't resist including at least one picture of a person (Stefano) in the snow with a bunch of mountains in the background. This is from Monday and we had hiked up a small slope above the final lift, were at about 3100 meters surrounded by beautiful sun, mountains and snow everywhere.
Food items not pictured include the capuccino and pastry we ate each morning for breakfast, a reasonably tasty couple of hotdogs that I had for lunch on Monday that due to an unfortunate misunderstanding came smothered in mustard and mayonaise, and a slice of margarita pizza at a rest stop Monday evening that I had when we stopped on the drive back to Ancona.
In September 2009 I moved from Portland, Oregon to Ancona, Italy for two years to begin My So Called Italian Life. In October 2022 I moved from Salt Lake City, Utah to Sitges, Spain for some years to begin again. Same blog. Different story.
