Better Late Than Never

Riley Facetiming me while I was in Bologna

All this modern technology just makes people try to do everything at once.  ~ Bill Watterson

My latest victims group and I are back from Italy, as you may know.  You may not know that since it's been some time since I was able to write the blog due, mostly, to the fact that we had internet problems from the time we left Bologna on October 28.

When Mike and I headed to Europe the first few times in the 90s and 2000s, we took neither cell phones or computers because they wouldn't work there. Internet was too new, slow, and costly. I remember signing up for 30-minute access to internet on a cruise ship in 2007. The cost was $50 for about 30 minutes, and I spent most of the 30 minutes waiting for one or two emails to Jason to send.  Even in 2010, we took my iPad to Italy hoping to have internet access and found very little.

What a difference a year made.   In 2011, I had a scholarship to Charles University in Prague, and we hit a few places in Italy before that.  Every apartment had internet access. I could use the iPad easily no matter where we were.  Unfortunately, our phones still did not work in Europe. You may remember that someone broke into our Prague apartment in the middle of the night, and we had no way to contact the police except for me to walk to the police station at 3:00 am.  (Story here and here)  I swore after that experience that I would not leave home without a phone that worked everywhere. And, I haven't.

Vernazza during the rain

Remember the America Express commercials that urged, "Don't leave home without it!"  These days, I—and probably most of you, too—don't leave home without at least one piece of digital equipment, the cell phone.  Most days, the iPad accompanies me, too, since I use it for work.  And, should I go out of town, I'm loaded for bear: iPhone, iPod, iPad, MacBook Air, and every stupid cable that I need to charge them up.  I'm addicted, I tell you.  How did  I survive before I had these umbilical cords?

At any rate, the group and I had all of our "stuff," and while we were in Bologna, the internet worked great. That was a good thing since BLVDS was in proof mode, and I was able to edit while I was there.  We left Bologna on 28 October, the day the final proofs were coming through.  Our apartments in Vernazza were to have internet, so I wasn't worried. First mistake.

BLVDS

"Can you sign on?" Kerri asked me not too long after we had lugged ourselves and our suitcases up 50+ STEEP steps to our Vernazza rooms.  She was waiting for a few important emails from work.

"It shows I'm connected," I yelled back, "but I can't get anything to open."  She couldn't, either.  At the time, we blamed it on the horrendous downpour going on outside.  We were, after all, in the Cinque Terre, an area on the rocky eastern coast of Italy.  I asked the owner about the internet, and he told me that they were having problems in the rooms and that we could use the internet in the restaurant.  While everyone ate, I edited BLVDS at our table, as did Kerri.  After I complained again, the owner gave me a portable hot spot, which Kerri and I shared since it worked in only one room at a time.  And, while it worked, it was slowslowslow because we were, after all, in a small town on the coast.

Rome would be better.

What I needed after dealing with internet problems

HA! Our Rome apartment was in the Prati district — a quiet, business/residential area of the city close to the Vatican and Piazza del Popolo.  Paolo, the owner, got the internet working for us and showed me what to do if we had problems.... which we did.  I won't bore you with all of the details, but suffice to say a lot of the conversation over our three days in Rome went something like this:

"Are you able to sign on?"

"No.  Are you?"

"No."

OR, "I'm online, are you?"

"Yes... No.... Yes.... Wait...."

OR, "I give up."

"I gave up last Wednesday."

Paolo, the owner, wrote me yesterday and apologized. He told me that he's planning to get a new service provider and hopes that that will take care of the problem.

So, we're home, and the internet is working.  Yay!

Excuse me.... I have a meeting in an hour, so I need to pack up everything and get ready.

See you back in Venice tomorrow.

Life and Other Adventures

“An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered.” ~ GK Chesterton

I've been a little under the weather for the past few days–well, almost a week.  In addition, BLVDS has been in proof stage, and I've been working on that when I could keep my head clear enough to think.  (No comments from anyone about that, please.)  So, I did want you to know that the spirit was there, but the energy was not.  

That said, I've been accruing stories.... Believe me.  I have been accruing stories.  True stories. When you travel with me, you have adventures, and there has been no shortage on this trip. Please allow me to give you just a taste until I can get to the real blog in the next few days.

INTERNET is always a problem when we travel, and this trip has not been any different.  While Bologna was pretty steady in that department, Vernazza is not, and we are suffering without a good connection. Luckily, I bought an Italian sim card for my iPad, and I can get at least a little internet at times.

VENICE, as you may remember, is not one of my favorite cities for a number of reasons.  Well, we can add at least three more to that list, and I'll explain those in detail soon.  Let's just say it all comes down to the fact that I'm not wild about crowds of idiots, pidgeons, and cold.

Speaking of cold, we are currently in the Cinque Terre area.  Our  TRIP & ARRIVAL yesterday in the middle of a cold rain that soon turned to a complete downpour left us soggy and quite a bit put out. It

And, speaking of being put out, should I tell you about the BANK incident?  Or about how we keep LOSING WAITERS?

And, there are the THREE WOMEN from Galveston (that's in Texas, you know). If there is a reason Americans have a bad reputation around the world, those three women would be at the top of the list.

Things always do work out. And if they didn't, I'm not so sure I'd like the adventure.

See you in Venice soon....

PHOTOS:  Top-Vernazza an hour after our arrival  Bottom- Monterosso al Mare today

Religion

Facade of Milan Cathedral

 “The world is my church."
― Steve Maraboli

The last few days in  Florence and Milan have been so busy that I've been too tired to write anything.  My apologies.  I do, however, want to touch on something briefly tonight before I head to bed: religion.

Italy, as you probably know, is full of Catholic churches.  Turn a corner, see a church.  My grandmother's village (600+ residents) has five that I know of.  Castrovalva, a tiny town of about 20 permanent residents, has three or four.  Don't even ask me about a city like Bologna or Milan or Rome.  As I said, turn a corner, see a church.
 

Side altar

 One of the things that gets me most is the fact that the churches are so huge and so ornate, and you know darn well that the people who built them were the poor people.  There was no way a Medici family member was going to get his hands dirty placing marble to make columns.

But, here's the question that really bothers me: Do we really need the huge basilicas and cathedrals to worship properly?  OF COURSE NOT.  It's actually pretty disgusting, if you think of it, of how much time and money have gone into these places from their inception to today.  Let's look, for example, at the duomo in Milan.

Built in the Lombard Gothic style, the duomo took 582 years to complete.  It is the fifth largest church in the world, second largest church in Italy, and second largest Gothic-style cathedral in the world.  It actually sits on the site of older churches that date back to 350 AD.

Side of Milan Cathedral

On the outside, there are 135 spires, and on the inside, there are 52 columns (Each is 24.5 meters high.). Also inside are 3400 statues that date from medieval to modern times.  Numerous bishops of the diocese are buried there, and St. Charles Borromeo, former archbishop of Milan and an instrumental figure in getting work on the cathedral completed during his term, sleeps in a crypt under the main altar.  There are five (FIVE) wide naves in the cathedral, and I didn't count how many altars. There are a lot, and I assume you know that people of wealth could donate money to have their own altar in churches.  Of course, the cathedral has many religious artifacts, and it's said that one of the nails from the crucifixion is in a vault in the ceiling behind the altar.

What strikes me most about all of this is the waste of money.  Let me be fair and say that it's not only the Catholic Church, either.  I've been in plenty of large, ornate Protestant and Jewish houses of worship, so I bring this up only because I've been in the Florence and Milan duomos this week.

Where are our priorities?

Peas, Please

“Peas baffled me. I could not understand why grown-ups would take things that tasted so good raw, and then put them in tins, and make them revolting.”
― Neil Gaiman

When I was a kid, my Aunt Vera (one of my mom's sisters) used to make spaghetti every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday.  Many weeks, she also made it on Saturday.  On many days that  she didnt' serve pasta, she served peas in tomato sauce.  I'm sure a lot of you who never had it gagged at the thought, but I have to tell you I loved those peas and sauce.

The interesting thing was that, of all my mom's sisters, Aunt Vera was the only one who made peas in sauce.  I never gave it any thought until tonight when le group and I headed to dinner at La Fontana, a Bolognese restaurant close to the apartments.  Smack dab in the entree section of the menu was polpette in sugo con piselli—meatballs in sauce with peas. 

As I was thinking about Aunt Vera and this dish, something hit me. Aunt Vera was married to Joe Villani, and I think I've figured out that Uncle Joe's family originated in the Emilia-Romagna region.  First, the Villani name is an old one in the area. Several pastas and other dishes Aunt Vera cooked that her sisters and sisters-in-law did not cook are from this area...including the piselli in sugo. 


So, I ordered it.  I didn't ask, but I'm guessing that everyone thought I was a little crazy, but it was so good.  So good. Of course, I think most things covered with tomato sauce are good.... except maybe donuts. 

Definitely not donuts.....

All You Can Do Is Laugh

The Italian stand-off

 “Announcing your plans is a good way to hear God laugh.”
― David Milch

 If I have one purpose in coming to Italy, I think it's to make God laugh.  I make plans for my groups to do something, and we usually have the opportunity to experience some grand hiccup in a few of the plans.  I figure God is having slow days and needs something to brighten them up.

Now that Group #3 has been here a few days, we decided to take a short train ride to Faenza, home of the International Museum of Ceramic Art. Before you laugh at that, let me tell you that it is a phenomenal museum and worth the trip to see it. First, however, we had to get there, and to get there we needed to take the bus to the train station and head out on the 10:35 east to Ancona (with stops all over the place).

We got to the bus stop around 9:50 about two minutes after the #11 passed by.  Since #11 buses stop every seven minutes, I wasn't concerned. The next bus was due to come by in five minutes, so, we were safe.  The #19 stopped, as did the #14.  Even a #23 came by.  The seven minutes grew to ten, then twelve.

Suddenly, we noticed a stand-off blocking traffic down the street from us (Photo above). A woman wanted to park in a space, and a man was guarding it for a car or truck that was not in sight.  The woman honked, and the man turned his head.  The woman inched forward, and the man just stood there.  She honked; he glared.  They yelled at each other.  She shook her fist. He turned his head. The cars she was blocking honked at her, and she inched forward again. He didn't move.

Piazza del Popolo where they hold the weekly market on Tuesdays....until 1:30

I was concerned because it was, at this point, 10:07, and that was the last bus we could catch that would get us to the train station in time for the 10:35 train.  Cars started going around the woman, snarling traffic now in both directions for a few minutes.  Still no bus #11. Two #19s came by within a minute of each other, as did a #14.  A woman who had been standing there when we walked up asked me where the bus was. I had no idea, of course.  When a second #14 pulled up, she asked the driver, and he shrugged his shoulders and shut the bus door.

Meanwhile, the lady driver and the man were still caught in a stand-off over the parking space although the woman finally backed across the street and double-parked. She opened her window and yelled something at the guy who ignored her yet again. Finally a small truck approached, put its blinker on, and the man moved out of the way.  The truck started to move to back into the space, and the lady started to pull her car across the street again. The truck won that race handily, and the lady backed up again and roared off as she shook her fist.

 We had, at this point, been standing there more than 30 minutes when a #11 bus finally got through.  Unfortunately, it was packed to the rafters with people, and the only way we were going to get on was to ride on the outside of the bus.  We decided to walk to the train station to catch the 11:35 train.

Snagglepuss  snarled at me while I took his photo.

Fast-forward about 10 minutes and six blocks, and we saw a bus #11 heading in our direction.  The next bus stop was two blocks in front of us, but the bus was stuck in yet another traffic jam of some sort.  We started to power-walk toward the stop.  Two perfectly timed red lights and heavy traffic slowed #11 down enough that we actually made it and hopped on the bus.  Unfortunately, the bus was quite full, so we were squished in there with two thousand other people, one of whom resembled Anthony Hopkins's character in "Silence of the Lambs."  I looked to make sure he didn't have fava beans and chianti on his lap.

 When we reached the stop where we had to get off to walk to the train station, two bus officials decided to start checking everyone's bus tickets.  Of course, they stood right in the aisle and blocked the exit. (On Italian buses, one enters either in the front or back and leaves from the middle.)  I had to push my way off.  Twyla jumped out of the back door, and Ron and Kerri got swallowed up in a mix of young kids, mothers, the ticket checkers, and old ladies who refused to move. I ran to the back door, but people had climbed on, so Ron and Kerri could go neither forward nor backward.

The exit doors closed as the bus prepared to take off WITH Ron and Kerri still in limbo. Far be it from me to get hysterical (NO LAUGHING!), but I pounded on the doors. The driver didn't open them. Somehow, Kerri made one last push, and the two of them were able to get past the ticket guys and two little old ladies who didn't want to move.

"I was ready to push that lady over," Ron said.

"You looked panicked," Kerri said to me.

"I'm done with buses," Ron added.

"It was pretty funny," Twyla laughed.

I started breathing again.

A busy street in Faenza

 We made the 11:35 train and got to Faenza by 12:15.  The museum is a short walk up the main street, so we were there rather quickly.  Being as the morning had traumatized us, we decided to stop for lunch at a small place across from the museum before we hit it.  The food was good, and we headed back across the street at 1:25 or so.

 I walked to the ticket counter and asked how much tickets cost.

"We just closed," the woman rudely told me.

"Excuse me?"

"We closed at 1:30 today," she snapped again.

"The website said you're open all day," I pleaded trying not to beat my head on the counter.

"We closed at 1:30."  She turned to talk to someone else.

Twyla reading a great magazine in Piazza del Popolo

I won't bore you with specifics, but we left and walked around town, which was quite pretty.  It was also quite deserted as everything—even the little corner bottega—closes at 1:00 or so for afternoon rest. We found one open ceramic shop, and the owner insisted that the museum was, indeed, open all day.

"No, we went there. They told me it closed at 1:30 today," I advised her.

"Who told you?  It's open all day." She showed me the pamphlet for the museum with hours clearly stating it is open 10:00-17:00.

"I know what it says," I told her, "but the rude woman at the desk told me they closed at 1:30 today."

She called the museum and talked to someone for a few minutes.  "You're right.  They closed at 1:30 today because there was a problem."  Of course I was right. The brutish woman basically threw us out.  "You must come back tomorrow," the ceramist continued.  "The museum is wonderful."

Fat chance of that happening. Tomorrow we head to Florence.  Besides, Faenza is now on my blacklist.

A Little Bit of Cozze On My Plate.... A Little Bit of Rice and Chicken, Too.

Cozze

 “If more of us valued food and cheer and 
song above hoarded gold, it would be a 
merrier world." ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

 Cox Cable has been running the most annoying commercial to advertise their fast internet speed; taken from the Broadway musical, Oliver!, the song is "Food, Glorious Food," and what the heck it and 3-D printed food has to do with anything Cox-related is beyond me. I'm just grateful that for the next two weeks, I won't have to listen to the stupid thing as I want to throw my computer through the television every time I hear it starting to play. (And, because I brought it up, I'm going to be singing that stupid song in my head all night.)

At any rate, as much as I despise that commercial, I love food. And as much as I love food, I'm a pretty picky eater in some ways. Unlike my father (who never met anything edible that he didn't like), there are certain things that I just can't swallow—literally. As such, I do tend to miss out on a few things that I just might enjoy eating.
 
 If you know me or have read this blog for some time, you might know that I won't eat fish. I do eat shellfish (as long as said shellfish is not staring back from the plate), but I usually eat only the shellfish I know—shrimp, crab, lobster (NO FACE), clams (only in soup or sauce), and scallops.  As such, I have not had oysters, crayfish, marlin, salmon, tuna, mussels, or the like.

Arrancini

Actually, that all changed the other day. My good friends, Cesar and Lilli, took me to Gardenia, a Sicilian restaurant, for dinner.  Cesar ordered cozze and arrancini (top two photos in respective order), two things that I had never eaten.  I was a bit nervous when the waitress brought out two bowls of cozze because, quite frankly, I was afraid I'd lose my nerve (or lunch) when I ate one. (Cozze are Mediterranean mussels.)

"Do you like cozze?" Cesar asked me as he opened one and ate it.  I hesitated.

"I've never eaten one," I probably mumbled. Both he and Lilli were shocked.

"You never ate one?" he exclaimed.  I shook my head; they both showed me how to open the shell and slurp it down.  I took one, opened it, counted to three in my head, and slurped it down.  I not only survived, I liked the cozze and ate a few more.

The arrancini, or rice ball, was absolutely phenomenal.  Named for the orange (arrancia) because of their size, shape, and color, arrancini are more of a southern Italian dish. They apparently surfaced in Sicily in the 10th century, but lately, they have become a fast food fad all over Italy.  If you don't know, arrancini are stuffed rice balls that are coated with breadcrumbs and fried. The filling can contain meat sauce, ground meat, fresh mozzarella, peas, or any combination of them. The one we had was ground beef and peas.

Pollo a la brace with salad

 The chicken was absolutely delicious, too. 

 "Do you think you'll have mussels again?" Mike asked me when I told him I'd enjoyed the ones we had the other night.

"I might," I informed him, " because they're just big clams, I think.  I can tell you, though, that  I won't turn down any arrancini that find their way to my plate."

And I hope some find their way to my plate again pretty soon.

Mortally-dellad

 "A kod komse uvek pun frizider svega, Mortadela i Nutela..."

 (And in Komsi, I always have a refrigerator full of Mortadella and Nutella..."

~ Cigo, the Croation One-man Band

i mentioned yesterday that there was a wonderful gathering in Piazza Maggiore raising money to plant fields of grain to help ease hunger in Tanzania, but that right around the corner, there was something that was completely different (Not that there's anything wrong with that).

 You 've probably guessed by the photos that I stumbled upon a festival honoring the humble, pink sausage otherwise known as mortadella.

Perhaps it is just me, but I found it hilarious that one group was trying to raise money to plant grain for starving African children, while another was handing out pounds and pounds of the precursor to Bolgona (or baloney) just around the corner.  Guess which group had more visitors.

 Mortadella originated over 500 years ago in Bologna.  Made of finely ground pork, the sausage is heat-cured. In addition, no less than 15% of the meat must be pork fat for it to be mortadella (Note those huge white chunks in the photo above.)  It can include peppercorns, pistachios, or myrtle berries (Roman mortadella contains myrtle berries.).

 As a side note, mortadella is the ancestor to American bologna (named as such because of the city where mortadella got its start).  The taste of American bologna, while similar to mortadella, is a lot more salty and stronger.  Mortadella is much more delicate in flavor, and as such, should not sit in the refrigerator too long after you cut it. It should not be too thick. Most Italians cut it paper-thin.

 I'm not a big fan, and I freely admit that I had never tried it until a few months ago. The thought of ingesting globs of fat was somehow unappetizing to me.  Someone offered me some while I was a guest of theirs, and I tried it.  It tastes, as I mentioned, similar to bologna although it has a very delicate flavor.  I cannot, however, get the idea of the fat out of my head, so I still won't eat it unless I'm being nice.  Believe me when I say it takes everything in me to swallow the white blobs.

 The other thing that I found absolutely hilarious and more than a little bizarre, was the fact that they offered wine pairings with mortadella (above). I can only imagine the wine descriptions:

"This chardonnay has a butter flavor and cream-like texture which is reminiscent of a spoonful of mayonnaise." OR... "The massive and opulent taste of this merlot pairs nicely with a sausage of the same, large proportions."  OR!! "The unctuous (oily) taste of this famous red is reminiscent of the blobs of fat in the mortadella."

If you want to hear Cigo Man sing about mortadella and Nutella in the refrigerator, click here.  He's actually very entertaining....and he likes Nutella. I won't hold the mortadella thing against him.

Domani:  I try cozze and arrancini for the first time.....