Palling Around At Pasqua

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...

TexMex Comes to Ancona

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!

Behave...it's Pasqua!

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.

Spring Break 2010...Woo Hoo!

The day before I left for Italy (now six months in the rearview mirror) my friend Sean from Seattle told me he was planning on coming to visit me. On March 6th our planning came together and we met in the Geneva airport to start our Spring Break adventure together. The plan was to take the bus to Courchevel and meet up with Olivia for a few days of snowboarding and partying, Brit style, burn Sean's snowboard and then take the train to Italy for a week of sightseeing in Bologna, Venice and Rome.

This was my second trip to Courchevel to visit Olivia and I was excited to be going back, to see her and to be in the mountains again. Irrespective of anything, Courchevel is an amazing town and offers a fantastic experience, but it is a distant second to the wonders Chamonix offers.

For me, getting to Courchevel is a pretty easy, multi-modal adventure if not slightly convoluted. It begins with the ritualistic descent of the four flights of stairs in my apartment while hauling a snowboard and bags loaded with the requisite gear. This is almost enough to get me to stay home. But after reaching the street and lugging everything through the middle of town to the bus stop there is no turning back. It’s a short bus ride (the ride is short, the bus is regular length) to the train station, a six hour train to Milan with an hour lay-over there and another six hour train to Geneva. The scenery on this leg is phenomenal including the last hour following the shores of Lake Geneva. If I took the overnight train out of Ancona the sun will just be coming up as we reach the shores of the lake and the water will sparkle and the mountains pulse. Arriving in Geneva I take a city bus from the train station to the airport and then climb aboard the bus to Moutiers where I transfer to a shuttle van for the last leg to Courchevel and a badly needed pot of fondue and beer. See? Easy.

For trips of this distance I usually book the Eurostar trains in Italy. They cost a bit more, but tend to be newer, in better condition and more comfortable. Your ticket gets you a reserved seat on a fast train that makes few stops and each car has a storage area for luggage. The Intercity and Regionale trains are great alternatives for inexpensive, local trips but stop everywhere along their routes and don’t offer much in the way of rider accommodations. They just get you there, usually on time. For the Milan to Geneva leg I always hope to get a Swiss train because they are immaculate and the seats come with outlets for charging Ipods and laptops. I usually over-pack a lunch and snacks for the trip and my backpack looks a bit like one of those clown cars as sandwiches, fruit, cookies, chocolate, juice boxes, chips and candy comes tumbling out. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, but you can get a decent café from the snack cart although you pay stadium prices for it.

Leaving Sean and Spring Break behind for just a moment, the best part about my first trip to Courchevel was meeting Olivia in front of Rocky’s Bar (it’s where everyone is unloaded upon arriving in town) and before even taking my luggage to the room we were having a Kronenbourg and chatting away like we were still in Chamonix rather than not having seen each other for five months. For the rest of the story, follow this link for her description of the visit and check-out this one for photos.

Now back to Sean and our trip (sorry Sean). If you’ve followed this blog at all, you’ve already seen loads of pictures from Courchevel, Bologna, Venice, and Rome and read my impressions of them. And if you haven’t, look them up.

While the Johnny Come Latelys are doing their homework, rather than drag the rest of you through old news again, I’ve posted a short slide show here (short for me anyway) of some pictures and I’ll just mention a few of my highlights from the trip.

• The Excel spreadsheet I made to plan our trip.
  
  
  
• Meeting Sean in Geneva. We’d both traveled long distances from disparate cities but to meet-up in the Geneva airport was as natural as could be.
  
• Watching Sean adjust to the European, and especially, Italian pace of life. There really is a difference and it was fun to see him settle into it.
  
• The pizza we ate our second night in Bologna. We chanced upon the restaurant while looking for another one and liked the look of it. The pizza stretched four inches off the plate it was served on and was the best I’ve had in Italy so far. I have the restaurant’s card and will take you there if you visit but I’m not revealing anything else.
  
• Learning a new term for the French: Cheese Eaters.
  
• Reliving the moments when I first saw Venice through Sean as I watched him walk out the train station and catch his first glimpse of the city.
  
• Having our train to Rome delayed three hours because an unexploded bomb from WWII was being removed from near the Rome Termini station.
  
• Walking in the Villa Borghese park in Rome. It was a lot like Forest Park in Portland except with more rollerbladers and 400 year old statues.
  
• Climbing the 521 steps to the top of the dome in St. Peter’s and then catching the first glimpse of the views of Rome.
  

Pasqua (Easter) is a major holiday in Italy (I know, big surprise). People here are still amazed when I tell them that we don’t get time off for it in the US. They always ask a variation of, “What days do you get off for Easter?” I tell them, “Sunday.” Anyway, our office will be closed for a few days so some of us are going on a little trip as the custom in these parts. On Saturday afternoon we’re off to Cesena, home of the first public library in Europe, but also the club Vidia where the Gomma Gommas will be performing. After spending the night in Bologna with Valentina’s parents it’s road trip time as we (Valentina, Giordano, Miki, me) head west to Tuscany to visit the cities of Lucca and Pisa. We’ll of course see the tower in Pisa but there is also a cathedral that is supposed to be amazing. I’m most excited for Lucca. The old part of the city is still ringed by the medieval walls. They are 12 meters or so tall, 10 meters wide and about 5 kilometers around. The top has been converted into a park with walking and biking paths. We plan to hire bikes and hit the circuit. I should have a story about the trip ready by the 4th of July.

Snowboarding with Vayla at Frontignano

Almost since I arrived in Italy, Vayla and I have been talking about going snowboarding together. Until recently though, he's been busy studying for his ship captain's exam. Last Thursday he finally took the exam, and passed. He is now officially Captain Vayla and can drive (pilot, sail, maneuver?) any boat up to 20 meters in length anywhere in the world. Except off the coast of Somalia. There are pirates there. With the test out of the way and the weekend free, we planned a trip for Saturday.

As incredibly poncy as this sounds, this was the first one day snowboarding trip I'd taken in Europe. Everything else has been multi-day stays at various resorts. It felt familiar to be packing gear for just a day, meeting at seven, stopping for a quick breakfast along the way and changing in the parking lot. Could have been Meadows except instead of the Johnsons or Heinrichs or Ash I was with Vayla. The cronies may have changed but the scenery was similar. With new snow recharging the area on Thursday and Friday and relatively mild weather Saturday this timing was fortuitous and the day fantastic.

Frontignano is a little resort near the little town of Ussita in the Apennine Mountains (not spelled like it sounds but spelled like it looks) about 130 kilometers and 2 hours from Ancona. It's a bit bigger than Skibowl and a little smaller than Meadows. It has one quad, two singles (which I'd never seen before) and a few other doubles.


As fun as it looks.
The overall terrain is relatively intermediate with some offerings of good steepness and tree sections. For a day area it's plenty entertaining, the crowds are small and relaxed, the tickets are cheap and they have a sandwich at lunch that was amazing - big slices of crusty bread toasted over a coal fire with fresh grilled sausage from the same fire and thick slices of cheese slowly melting over the top, all made to order. The Bombardino I had for the mid-afternoon was lethal and delicious.



More please.

Slip sliding away.

Just another day hanging out in Italy.

Gratuitous Scenery Shots



Heads-up that this will be my last post for a few days because tomorrow morning early I board the train for Courchevel, France to visit this vision in pink:


I can't say how excited I am to see her even though she'll probably kill me for posting this picture. It's worth it. I just hope I can keep up with her.