skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Sacchetti per l’aspirapolvere Update: Raimondo came home last night toting a big smile and a package containing five new vacuum cleaner bags. After a hearty congratulations I had to ask the indelicate question: “If it was this much trouble to get them in the first place, why did you only get five of them? Shouldn’t we have stocked up?” Stunned silence. Later in the evening we installed a new bag to take the vacuum for a test run. The bag didn’t fit! Raimondo checked the part number on the package and the store gave him the wrong bags. He spent about thirty minutes trying to make the bag fit, to no avail, because he swears he is never going back to that shop. I continue to use the broom. I think there’s a business opportunity somewhere in all of this. Or at least a decent business white paper.
Spring has semi-sprung and with the sun, breeze and later sunsets Ancona is starting to come alive again. Through the winter I got used to it being quiet and deserted in the evenings and I forgot what it was like in the fall when I arrived and was starting to think of the town as being a bit (a lot) quiet and boring. But over the past few days, the streets are noisier and more crowded as the bars and restaurants put their outdoor seating back out and people meet up to have a drink or take a walk or most of all, talk and gossip. It reminds me a lot of the first few days of sun in Portland after the winter when the whole city seems to rouse itself and a new energy takes over except that here the weather is a bit milder, the center is a bit more concentrated and socializing is a more central way of life. The result is that the effect is similar but more concentrated and intense. And it’s nice to see and not to be missed. This is an open invitation to anyone who wants to come join me on an evening walk. Just let me know when you’ll be here, and I’ll buy the first gelato.
April 25th was Italy’s Independence Day and it commemorates the day in 1945 that partisans declared the country free from Nazi domination. The occupation army finally surrendered and left Northern Italy in the face of an insurrection by the Italian resistance (Allied troops may also have contributed to the departure). It is generally taken as symbolic of the liberation of Italy and is meant to honor all those who died during the war including victims of the atrocities committed by the retreating German army, Italian service personnel, and civilian victims of Allied bombings. The lives of those serving as partisans in the resistance are especially honored.
Around these parts, it’s almost September 6th and by that I mean it’s almost May 1st which is Italy’s Labor Day, called Primo Maggio, and vigorously celebrated throughout much of the world as International Worker’s Day or May Day or Excuse To Go To The Beach Day, except in the US and Canada where we wait until September (just to see if any better offers come along I guess). Because so many people belong to unions and because they play a more central role in daily life, it’s a bit more of a labor focused holiday with people joining in labor marches, demonstrations and rallies. The unions also organize a huge concert in Rome, as well as many other concerts, celebrations and festivities around the country. And because this year the day falls on a Saturday, we don’t get it off from work.
Fortunately, May 4th, the following Tuesday is a local holiday for Ancona (click here for the city’s official website). Every city in Italy has a Saint Day, also called a Feast Day, and our saint is San Judas Cyriacus and his day is May 4th. Unfortunately, we’re not a local business, but an “international” one so we’ll be open. But many lucky people won’t be working and will “make the bridge” and take Monday off since it’s lurking there between the weekend and the Tuesday holiday. Starting on Saturday there will be concerts in the various piazzas and a huge outdoor market set-up throughout the entire city which will stay open through Tuesday. Already the tents are going up and it looks like just about any open space is going to be taken over by a booth. Or we’re all just going to go camping. People come from all over the region to participate and party and it’s supposed to be a very fun and maybe slightly rowdy time. Unlike New Year’s where Raimondo and I showed up to the free concert without any of our own celebration juice we plan to be much better prepared this time.
And now for something completely different, a man with three buttocks. (Ask my brother, he gets the joke.) No really, something completely different = Adventure! ™ = Locked out of my apartment. My roommates Alice and Deborah leave most every Friday afternoon to go back to their towns for the weekend and this week was no different. Raimondo goes back every couple of weeks and about an hour after he left on Saturday I decided to go for a walk to the Passetto and watch the storm on the sea.
About three flights of steps later I had a lightning series of fantastic revelations that roughly went like this: my pocket isn’t jingling; my pocket always jingles from my keys; that’s weird that my pocket isn’t jingling; my pocket ISN’T jingling!; I don’t have my keys; oh CRAP, I DON’T have my KEYS; my nearest roommate is more than 100 km away; oh crap, I have to walk back up these three flights of stairs. My first solution was to get a hotel room and spend the night in three star luxury waiting for someone to return on Sunday. Then I called Raimondo and asked him to call Michele, our landlord, and see if he could come let me in. I couldn’t call Michele because Michele thinks that I know Italian now and speaks way too fast while mumbling and I can’t understand him. This Adventure™ has a happy ending whose resolution is three hours in the making and whose details will try even the patience of my most tolerant readers. Let’s leave it at the story concludes with me getting into my apartment several hours later after taking the right bus but at the wrong time, a hasty exit from said bus, getting the right bus, a 3 km walk up a hill in the wrong direction while trying to follow Michele’s instructions, a kind but exasperated bartender and a clandestine meeting in a hospital lobby between me and a third party to receive the spare set of keys concluded with a giant piece of celebration cake. What’s celebration cake? It’s like normal cake but the piece is a lot bigger and there’s no guilt. It’s a lot like birthday cake, wedding cake, Tuesday cake, and Oh, Is That Cake? cake.
The other evening I was up on my roof watching the sun set into the sea when it occurred to me that just that morning the sun had been shining into my room and that those windows also face the sea. Somehow the sun was rising out of the sea in the east and setting into the same sea in the west. It turns out that Ancona is the only Italian city where you can see this happen and it’s not entirely because of magic. Most of you have already figured out what is going on but I was stumped. The name of the city hints at the answer and the local geography explains it. First, fun with etymology! Ancona comes from the Greek word for elbow ’Ἀγκών’ – Angon or Ankon depending on what website you are ripping off. Ancona was founded by the Greeks in 387 B.C. and the name came about because the original harbor was protected by the ‘elbow’ of land to the north. It stuck. Now the geography. The shape and orientation of this elbow of land jutting into the sea makes it possible for the sunrise, sunset phenomenon to occur and it’s actually quite remarkable to witness it. Or even just to think about. Don’t you think?
Pasqua Part Two...Lucca by bike
Welcome back. Dinner on Monday night, after spending the day in Pisa, was one of the best meals I’ve had since arriving in Italy. We went to a small trattoria (generally, a small restaurant with simple décor and service, featuring very local dishes and lower prices although it has become a sort of generic, marketing term over time), again in the center of the Center that was crammed by the time we arrived. Another charming thing (Another? I’m not sure what the other ones are but there must be some) I’ve noticed about restaurants here is for the most part, once you’ve confirmed your reservation for the evening, the table is held for you whether you arrive on-time (which would be late in the US) or late (on-time in Italy), there’s no waiting to be seated until your whole party arrives (because the whole party will never arrive at the same time and thus no one would ever be seated) and even if other customers are waiting, your table is still available and is yours for the night with no pressure to leave no matter how long you choose to let dinner last and how many other people are hoping to be seated. Back to dinner.
We decided to start with Zuppa di fagioli alla toscana (Tuscan white bean soup), local to the region. There were three versions available so we ordered one of each, one with some sort of ham, the second with seasonal vegetables and the third with barley. Although once I tasted the one with ham I claimed it for myself and only grudgingly shared. Back when we were planning the trip, I’d been told that while in Tuscany I had to have Bistecca alla fiorentina (the US equivalent of a t-bone or porterhouse steak) at least once on the trip which is why Valentina had selected this restaurant (she had selected all our restaurants on the trip and made the reservations well in advance) as it supposedly had a well-deserved reputation for the dish. We ordered it family style, for the whole table knowing Valentina and Miki weren’t that hungry meaning a serving for four was likely to be split by two, me and Giordano.
Waiting for the steak to arrive. Look at that face!
The steak, this beautiful steak, came on a platter, the same kind of platter Vikings used to use to carry their dead kings to the funeral pyre; it was substantial, thick, elemental, charred from the grill, pink in the center and sliced thin ready to be drizzled with olive oil, brutally stabbed with a fork and demolished. It came buried in rucola and thick-chunked Grana (a hard-cheese similar to Parmiggiano Reggiano). Tender and flavorful but substantial enough on the tooth to remind you that you were eating meat, not porridge. A total experience in all senses of the word. Big plates of french fries and sautéed spinach were delicious but a bit beside the point really and Giordano and I kept pushing them on the other two to distract them from the main attraction. There was no logical reason to keep going after that delightful wallow in a puddle of indulgence, but crème caramel and coffee and limoncello somehow made sense so we just went right ahead. Except for the chef’s family we were the last to leave and they had to unlock the security gate at the front door to let us out. Stars were shining and a night-time walk along the top of the city walls helped ease the weight of the past three hours.
Tuesday morning started even warmer and sunnier than the day before, ideal for the Adventure!™ planned for the day before driving back to Ancona in the evening. Amazingly, I wasn’t that hungry at breakfast so limited myself to just two pastries (one with cream and one with marzipan) a cappuccino and no pizza. Our next stop was at a bike shop to rent bikes for a wheeled tour of Lucca and we were excited to see it during the day and without torrential rain. With a gently warming sun, slight breeze and light crowds conditions were perfect.
As mentioned sometime before, Lucca is a city that as it expanded beyond its medieval boundaries, in a stroke of brilliant urban planning, the original 16th century walls were kept intact and the newer city grew-up around them preserving the ancient and historical center. The walls are some 5 km in length with a paved walkway about 10 m wide on the top that used to host car races but now is reserved for non-motorized users and canoodling couples (who, while revved up must also be non-motorized). From inside the city it’s hard to see the walls as such but from outside they rise to a height of about 12 m out of big fields of grass and flowers.
It’s a quiet town that is often overlooked because of the proximity of the “more popular” Pisa and Florence and you’re more likely to be run down by a bike than a car or giant bus loaded with day-tripping tourists. I know because I was almost the run downee as well as the run downer on more than one occasion. That aside, there’s a lot to see in Lucca and on a bike it’s possible to see a lot more of the lot.
Many of the other things to see are churches.
The best part is that the city really hasn’t changed since it was built in medieval times and so it’s possible to see how people lived in the 16th century, that is it’s possible if they had souvenir shops outside every church, pizza places near all the piazzas, a Benetton and an endless number of boutiques selling variations of the same shoes and dress. One great place to visit is the Torre Guinigi which at only 44 meters hardly puts it in the same category as the giants in Bologna but in spite of its dwarfish stature it does boast live larch trees growing on the terrace at the top and stupendous, panoramic views of the city and surrounding hills.
Climb, climb, climb all 44 meters worth!
Stupendous views.
Panoramic views.
The larch trees on top of the tower. Or are they oak?
I give you this next bit so you have something to fill your next awkward silence – the towers were originally built by the wealthy families of Lucca to conspicuously demonstrate their wealth and in the tower heyday there were over 170 in the city. I wonder if they were like the corvettes of their time?
One of my other favorites was the Piazza Anfiteatro. In olden times (that’s the word archeologists use for stuff that happened before you were born) when Romans walked the streets of Lucca in their skirts and leather sandals, this space was an amphitheatre. But after Season 18 of Lucca’s Got Talent! confirmed that Lucca most certainly did not have talent, the amphitheatre was knocked over in favor of multi-modal townhouses for nouveau riche icon merchants. Not really. It became a quarry for the town’s churches and palaces. Houses were built over it in Middle Ages and then in the 19th century an architect redesigned the space featuring new buildings around the outside of the original amphitheatre and an open piazza in the center so that today the area retains the original shape and residents of the buildings have spectacular views down the fronts of the shirts of tourists eating at the restaurants below and of the musical acts during the many festivals which regularly occur in the piazza. It's a very interesting space to have in the middle of a city and without a lot of people around ideal for pursuit races on bike around the border.
Professional panoramas of the piazza.
Posing at one of the four entrances into the piazza.
Giacomo Puccini (creator of La bohème, Tosca, Madama Butterfly) was born in Lucca. Here he is looking nonplussed as an annoying tourist perches on his distinguished lap.
A nonplussed Puccini.
To be fair there is a precedent for this happening to statues.
Affection!™ A plussed Inga.
Once we had seen all we cared to see, and a few things that we didn’t care to see (like a dog pooing in the middle of the street) we returned the bikes and loaded into the car to return Miki to Bologna, me to Ancona and Valentina and Giordano to Osimo.
Pasqua Part One...Pisa
Pasqua (Easter) in Italy is one of the busiest travel times. Everyone goes on holiday somewhere and we were no exception. Over the long weekend from April 3-6, Giordano, Valentina, Miki and I went to Tuscany, a very popular “somewhere” to be at Easter. The trip started on Saturday afternoon when Giordano and Valentina picked me up and we drove a couple hours to Cesena for a Gomma Gommas concert. They were playing in support of a German band called Not Available on the same stage where bands like Nirvana and Foo Fighters have played in the distant past. Most exciting, the audience had to pay to see them! It wasn’t another free bar show. Unfortunately, since the time when Nirvana swung through town, a neighborhood has grown-up around the venue and live music has to end by midnight which is right about the time the youth of Italy head-out for the evening on a Saturday. In spite of this, a respectable crowd was on hand and those that did make it were enthusiastic and energetic and the boys were excited by how it went and acting like rock stars after they came off stage.
After the show we drove the couple of hours to Bologna to Valentina's parents house. We arrived around 3am and discovered the breakfast cakes and sandwiches her mom had prepared. They were delicious even though we might have ruined the next morning’s breakfast for the rest of the family. I slept until 12.30 on Sunday, finally to be woken by Valentina telling me it was time for lunch.
It was nice to see her parents again (or more precisely it was nice to see her parents cooking again) and they were excited to have their daughter home even if it meant the weird American showed up too. Her brother is back from studying at university in Scotland (he works for Lamborghini now and I nearly stole his employee ID because it’s so cool) so their whole family was together. I never did hear how breakfast went but there didn’t seem to be any grudges as Easter lunch started. After my experience at their table in December I knew I had to be careful and pace myself. First up were warm and cold appetizers including a plate of local sausages and prosciutto, a plate of cheese and a variety of stuffed pastries. Then the pasta, bavettini with homemade pesto and lots of parmesan cheese made at a dairy down the road. I would have been happy to push away from the table after a couple servings of the pasta but that’s not how this paragraph goes. After the pasta was stewed rabbit with mushrooms and chestnuts served with roasted potatoes, peppers, and zucchini. Then came veal cutlets with tuna. Then came the dessert: three kinds of cake (don’t even think about not taking at least one piece of each), gelato, cookies and Easter egg chocolate.
With lunch sadly at an end we picked-up Miki (poor girl, her family decided just to go to a restaurant for lunch) and we headed over the mountains and down to the western coast for Lucca. On the way over the mountains it started raining and it only got heavier the further we drove. By Lucca it was pouring so to console myself I had two slices of pizza in a little restaurant as a way to stay out of the rain for a bit while we waited for the receptionist to finish lunch with her family and come open the hotel. We had booked our rooms a couple months in advance and had found a nice Bed & Breakfast just outside the historic center. Upon arrival we found out the Bed & Breakfast didn’t actually serve breakfast (it was available separately for purchase daily at the pastry shop they owned next door) so we took to calling the place a Bed. Our Bed was managed by a very nice couple who had given Valentina their personal mobile number and said to call them after four and they would come open the Bed for us.
After settling in we walked through the rain to dinner.
Walking through the rain.
More rain, but still pretty.
The restaurant, Osteria Baralla, in business since 1860, was located in the center of the Center and like Venice, if you weren’t born there it’s a bit tricky to find your way. Soaking wet, pathetic looking and starving by the time we arrived, we bulled past the “stupid Americans” who hadn’t thought to make reservations (wait, I’m a stupid American!?!) and headed straight for our table. It was there I met my new friend, Tordelli. These are pasta stuffed with meat, like a ravioli (which are originally from Liguria), but from the Toscana region and they are fantastic, especially with ragù. Afterwards arrived the Brasato al Pepe (essentially chunks of beef stewed in wine, peppercorns and sin) served with polenta and roasted potatoes and grilled artichokes.
The Brasato al Pepe
And then there was dessert which for me was apple torte and crème anglaise with the rest of the wine, and then coffee and then limoncello. Describing meals on this trip is an exercise in run-on sentences.
A fitting way to end dinner.
We woke up Monday morning with the streets still wet but hardly a cloud in the sky and the sun steaming everything dry. Since our Bed didn’t offer Breakfast, we walked next door to the Pasticerria Stella for breakfast before leaving for Pisa. I had a cappuccino with three pastries, one filled with cream, one filled with chocolate and one filled with almond paste. And then because it was fresh and it looked delicious I had a slice of pizza. Once I finally got my face clean and the powdered sugar wiped off my shirt we loaded in the car for the 15 km drive to Pisa.
The main attraction in Pisa is of course the river Arno that flows through the middle of town sort of like Portland’s Willamette but less Super Fundy.
World famous Arno River!
There is also a tower for when you get tired of looking at the river. Nah, just kidding, it’s the tower that's the main attraction.
We arrived early, around 9.30 spurred on by our personal perpetual motion machine Valentina. The parking lot was still empty and even the vendors with their designer watches, belts, purses and sunglasses were still setting-up. From the parking lot you walk about 800 meters to the Piazza dei Miracoli a UNESCO World Heritage Site which contains most of the reasons the majority of people come to visit Pisa.
See, 800 meters. Don't just take my word for it, trust the sign.
The view into the piazza as you approach is blocked by a tall wall and dozens of souvenir and snack stands so you only see the occasional glimpse of the top of the Duomo until you reach one of the main gates. Then you turn left to look through the gate and there it is. A building so iconic you know what it looks like even though you’ve never seen it yourself and when you finally do see it in person the first time it’s simultaneously a little disappointing because you feel like you’ve actually already been there and awe-inspiring because porca miseria! “THAT’S THE FREAKING LEANING TOWER OF PISA AND I’LL BE DARNED IT REALLY DOES LEAN!”
Welcome to the gate my child. Step through to view the Miracoli.
Before I start raving about the tower, right as we were getting ready to go through the gate and were taking the first of what would end up being hundreds of the same photo of the tower I was approached by a man selling designer watches. I asked him how much and he told me 50 euros but that included a 5 year warranty. Five year warranty? Intriguing. I asked him how I would claim my warranty if I had a problem, did I just need to come see him? Would he be in the same place? We both started laughing and he lowered the price to 25 euro but no warranty. His English was great so I asked him where he came from. Turns out he was from Ghana, next door to the Côte d’Ivoire where I grew up. I didn’t buy the watch but I liked his warranty offer. Pretty ingenious.
We were so early that the Piazza dei Miracoli was still mostly empty of us, the tourists, who would later in the day fill the entire square.
Piazza dei Miracoli empty.
Full.
For those of you who haven’t been or didn’t do the extra reading at the links earlier in the post (or I guess, look that the two pictures above), the piazza is made up of a huge green lawn in which the Bapistry, Duomo and Tower rise up out of in the middle. It’s striking. They are architecturally amazing to the point of being surreal. Hardly looks real. Especially on a sunny day like we had where the light is reflecting off all the white marble. Whether alone in their sea of green or standing out against a field of wild flower tourists the three main structures incessantly pull your eyes and attention towards them.
Architectually Interesting.
The tower leans because of soft soil under the foundation and it started leaning almost from the day construction started. It’s a rediculous angle that doesn’t seem possible and it’s kept from falling today by all the tourists who take turns holding it up.
Me doing my bit for the future visitors to Pisa.
Practicing so he'll be ready for his turn.
After a couple hours of taking pictures from every possible angle and taking our turn at holding up the tower we left the piazza to see the famous Arno river and anything else Pisa cared to reveal to us.
In addition to the above, there was a fantastic little market similar to Saturday Market (alas no photo) but with good stuff, not junk and then we had lunch. After breakfast and knowing what was in store for dinner I took it easy, eating only a kebab, two slices of pizza and a gelato. And then another gelato. And a coffee. We returned to the piazza one last time to take a few dozen more pictures in case we had missed an angle and then headed back to Lucca and the next stop on Valentina’s itinerary for us – the Ponte del Diavolo.
The bridge is known as both the Ponte della Maddalena after Mary Magdelene and also the Ponte del Diavolo or The Devil’s Bridge. A local story (but not unique, it seems to be shared with a few other bridges) says that the Devil offered the townspeople help with building their bridge in exchange for the first soul to cross it upon completion. The deal was struck and when the bridge was finished the people sent a dog across thus saving the soul of one of their own and fooling the Devil. No mention is made of the fate of the dog’s soul or even how they got it to cross the bridge. Maybe they threw a ball?
Part Two in which we eat dinner on Monday and ride bikes around Lucca on Sunday coming soon...
Can the story of buying vacuum cleaner bags span two blog posts? Probably not but I’m just courageous enough to try! For those of you holding your breath, or crossing your fingers, or burning sage and dust balls for me - I still don't have the bags. Sorry. I hope I haven't caused a crisis of confidence. This is what happened…
I went back to the shop the following day because the negozia (shopkeeper) had said they would be ”pronto per domani” (ready for tomorrow). I got there about the same time as before and the door was locked, the lights out and a small sign said "torno subito" (I'll be right back.) Yeah right. I waited a few minutes but no sight of anyone so I went home. The next day, Friday, I tried again, once in the afternoon and once after work and both times the lights were out, the door locked, and even better, no sign. At this point, I’ve given up and I’m done with it. If Raimondo insists on living in a clean apartment he can deal with it himself. I’ll make friends with the filth.
Raimondo was undeterred. (Probably because this is typical and he’s used to dealing with situations like this.) He went to the store last Saturday and the negozia was actually there, but the bags were not despite her earlier promises on two separate occasions to both him and me. It turns out they don't actually order the bags so much as her father goes to another store (like we could have originally but what’s the fun in that) and buys them, they mark-up the price and resell them. Her father has been busy, or sick, or something, and hasn't had the chance to go to the store. But she took his order again and said they would be there on Tuesday and this time she really, really, really meant it. I don't know if Raimondo has gone back since and I don't care. I'll just use the broom.
On Friday night we had a going away dinner for a friend who is moving back to Turkey because he finished his Master's program. We were a group of about 30 and we went to a newish place - a Tex-Mex restaurant. The only one in Ancona (there used to be another one but the owner skipped town with all the money and it closed which is probably why this one opened. No competition! An unmet demand for Mexican cuisine!). In my heart I had visions of burritos, fresh tortilla chips, fish tacos, a side of sour cream. I've had the same meal dozens of times in Portland and could almost smell and taste it. Realistically, I knew it wasn't going to be like that at all, but I was pretty sure I’d be ecstatic if it was even similar to Taco Bell. The heart wants what the heart wants though, and don't get me started on what my tongue and stomach wanted. And so I dreamed.
Once we were seated and I started reading the menu a hunch began developing for what we were in store for. The dishes were right: fresh chips, guacamole, burrito, enchilada, fajitas. But the descriptions were a little off – as in a burrito contained chili con carne and onion – and the combination of ingredients a little unusual. And when the first bowl of queso Italian style - a lugubrious mass of scalded cheese, a slick of grease and some bits of sausage - hit the table I knew I was still in Ancona and not magically transported to El Burrito Loco on North Denver. Because our group was so large we didn't each order our own plates; they served us several appetizers and several entrées, family style. To start we had the above mentioned queso along with a second version without the sausage (for the vegetarians?) and bowls of nachos. The nachos were interesting and had pickled jalapenos which I recognized but no one else did so I let them eat away and laughed myself silly as the faces turned red and the tears ran. There was also salsa which was similar to pico di gayo without onions or cilantro. For the main meal there were tortillas (like the flour ones you'd buy at Safeway but not like the ones you’d buy at Fred Meyer) with chili (beef stewed with pinto beans) and something else (sausage with more pinto beans and tomatoes) that was really spicy. I think there was also fajitas but they never made it to our end of the table.
It wasn't Mexican food like I wanted, but it wasn't Italian food either and that's what I really liked. It had nice flavors and there wasn't a bit of pasta or a pizza in sight and for that I was very happy. It was really nice to have a different taste profile. The best thing was how enthusiastically everyone embraced the meal. A lot of them didn't even know what the food was and were asking me to explain "burrito", "enchilada", or "guacamole" but that didn't stop them from trying things and having a good time. I don't know if they liked it but it was fun to see everyone laughing as a jalapeño burned their mouth or they put down their knife and fork and ate with their fingers. The concept of eating with their hands was a little foreign so more than a few had their tortillas explode in their hands. The women were definitely more adventurous and willing to try everything. They even seemed to handle the heat better. The guys were good sports but you could tell they weren't quite as sure about it. It was great though. Except for one guy. Out of thirty people, he was the only one to refuse to try the food. The restaurant very wisely offers a full Italian menu along with pizza. He ordered ravioli, scallopine and french fries. He got a lot of teasing and his girlfriend couldn't stop rolling her eyes but he was happy so good for him. And good for me.
And this bit that comes next is like ordering ravioli at a TexMex restaurant; it just doesn't fit (although my Grandpa once ordered macaroni and cheese in a Mexican restaurant so maybe it does fit). My personal tutor in all things Italian, Valentina, forwarded this documentary to me and I found it pretty interesting. It's about the treatment of women in Italian media and very fascinating. Because of the subject matter it’s better not watched at work. But it’s definitely entertaining and education. Your decision. Just click right here if you want to see it. Additionally, or for those of you busily involved with lifting the US economy out of its slump with no time for 24 minute Italian documentaries, there was an interesting article in the NY Times last summer that discussed the same topic.
Here’s a couple pictures from the Easter trip to make this post as visually enticing as it was verbally delicious. I originally said I’d have photos from the trip by the 4th of July and can confidently say I am on track.
The walls surrounding Lucca town center.
The MUP on the walls of Lucca: 5km long, 10m wide, 12m off the ground. Fantastic.
The Battistero di San Giovanni in the Piazza dei Miracoli.
La Torre di Pisa and the Duomo di Pisa.
Right where the book said it would be!
You know what’s fun? Ok, dumb question. Let’s try this instead. I discovered something else fun to do on Wednesday. You’ll never guess what it is because for you it’s probably not fun it’s just another item on your To Do list, right after “Buy a mop” and just before “Learn to use a mop”. What I discovered was “Buying vacuum cleaner bags”. And here is why it was fun. Adventure.
It all started a little while back when Raimondo put the last bag in the vacuum cleaner and said we needed more. I said we should just vacuum less but that apparently wasn’t an option. Since I work in the middle of town where all the shops are he asked if I could find some. He wasn’t sure which store might have them but they should be easy enough to find. I nodded very enthusiastically while in my mind I was actually planning on where I would buy my next pizza and certainly not thinking about vacuum cleaner bags or buying them.
About a week later he asked if I had had a chance to buy them and I told him I had been very busy (eating gelato) and hadn’t had the chance. In truth I had no idea where to buy them and the few people I had asked at work were as stumped as me and all suggested the same big shop in the suburbs but “Hey, support your local small business!” A day or so later a friend told me there was a hardware store near the pizza restaurant I really like that might have them so I decided to investigate (and have a snack). I found the shop, next to a pet store, who knew there was a pet store in town, but didn’t see any bags but did see some duct tape so I bought a roll of that instead, and had some pizza. When Raimondo asked again if I had bought bags I told him quite proudly that I hadn’t found them but I had found a good slice of pizza, a roll of duct tape and a pet store. He was decidedly unimpressed.
About two weeks ago he came home from work and told me he found a shop that sold the bags, the shop was barely twenty meters from my office, had ordered them and they would be available the next day and would I please pick them up. I said yes. I completely forgot. A few days passed and still I forgot even though one night we walked right by the shop which Raimondo pointed out to me and told me now I would know exactly where to go TOMORROW to pick up the bags. You bet.
Now the truth is, part of my hesitation in going to the shop was that I didn’t know what the Italian word for vacuum cleaner bags was and even if I did know it, I had no idea how I was going to explain to the shop-keeper that my roommate had ordered bags from her a couple weeks ago and I was there to pick them up, especially since when he ordered them, the store didn’t take down any of his information to connect with the order so essentially I would be saying, “A couple weeks ago you took an order from a skinny, bald Italian guy for some vacuum cleaner bags and I’m here to pick them up now. Please.” I could have figured out how to say this but I knew it would lead to lots of other words from the shop-keeper and these would be words that I wouldn’t know the meaning of or the proper response to. Between doing that or eating some pizza I kept choosing pizza. And if you think I’m being silly, put yourself in my shoes (or keep your own, your choice), pick a language you don’t know, any language (Hebrew is fun), now go! That’s what I thought.
Ok. I’m out of excuses and the time has come. Wednesday after work, I look up the word for vacuum cleaner bags which is “sacchetti per l’aspirapolvere” (it wouldn’t be something simple like ‘bags per dirt’ would it) and head to the shop muttering the word quietly over and over. You have to practice the new word out loud. If you say it only in your head, the first time you say it allowed your mouth and ears will rebel against your mind for foisting these new sounds on them, freak out and shut down, rendering you practically mute which does you no good if you happen to be trying to speak with someone at the time. The downside to this is you sound like a possessed idiot walking across Piazza Roma.
I reach the shop, step in, greet the shop-keeper (so far so good!) and ask for sacchetti per l’aspirapolvere or a reasonable approximation of the word (well done young man). I’ve decided simply to ask for the bags and skip trying to explain the rest. Now is when the bags should appear, I hand over some money and exit quietly back the way I came. Instead, she foolishly decides to ask me a question (uh-oh) which I think is something like is my vacuum the upright or a follow-along kind. Poor lady. She should have known better…I understand the question (yay) and I know what kind of vacuum I have (duh), but I have no idea what she called them or which word goes with which type. No problem. Pay attention because I am going to tell you what I have found to be the perfect answer for dealing with this type of situation – I shake my head “No” and say “Si”. At this, the questioner automatically assumes I am an idiot and begins to treat me as such which considering the situation is perfect. She sighs and asks if it’s this one or this one while pointing at two vacuums behind her. I know this one! We settle on the right kind of machine and the right kind of bag (I wrote that down earlier and just give her the piece of paper) and she tells me she’ll have them tomorrow which considering she supposedly ordered the same bags for Raimondo two weeks ago is a little surprising, but I can barely say sacchetti per l’aspirapolvere so who am I to question or complain; I’ll come back tomorrow and thank you very much. I leave the shop quite pleased with myself, report my success to Raimondo and cross my fingers she’ll remember me when I go back because there is no way I am telling her I was in there before and ordered some bags and are they available? See? Adventure!
Oh yeah, also I went to Cesena, Lucca and Pisa last weekend. It was neat.
