Sorry I haven't written in awhile. Words come to me like hunger comes to the body, they come univited into my mind--when I am working in the fields, or riding in the van, and then full inspiration hits and I write it all down. Maybe its because Ive been so busy this past week that the words haven't come, but anyways, all that matters is they are here now....
Clothes don't make the man. Sandro said this to me and I have to agree that nothing could be truer. When I first met Sandro, I failed to really see him and instead saw his outward appearance, his house and his fields. What I have come to see is that none of this truly reflects who he is as a person (and this applies to everyone I meet). It is the relationships people make, their perspectives on life and their abilities to feel compassion and empathy... these are what make a person.
Italy, and Europe for that matter, are very different than America in terms of physical culture. Here I am strange for shaving my armpits and twice I have been told that wearing a bra all the time (especially my sports bras) are not good for me, so I have adopted my lifestyle to the italians and I go braless and wear no makeup, sadly I cant bring myself to not shave (thats a little too much for me). It is amazing to be so natural, to not worry about perfecting myself with eyeliner and mascara and wash my hair daily, and yet be told that I am the most beautiful, gorgeous and free. This is one thing we Americans fear--a fear of the natural.
The hot summer heat brought with it two traveling gypsies who have taken residence at the farm on Via Fontevecchia. They have been together for nine years, and together they travel the world in their van that they converted into a home. Veronica is from the south of Italy while her partner, Kevin, is a native of england. I tell them that their love is an inspiration. They love eachother with such incredible passion, even after spending no more than two days apart for the last decade. You don't meet many people who have both fully realized their dreams and live it everyday. Veronica is like no one I have ever met before. She is both spiritual and grounded, concerned with the soul and the spirit and listening to what your heart tells you. She is an incredibly confident person and in just two weeks she has already helped me to understand myself better and to go after what I want it life, even if it might not be the easiest choice. Kevin is also very spiritual and like Veronica, he is incredibly easy to talk to. The only thing that surpises me about Kevin, is his sometimes sexist comments (of which he means no harm). Little comments that inspire a superiority/inferiority essence easily get on my nerves, and sometimes I have to struggle to keep my anger down. But besides a few miguided words, Kevin is a wonderful person who inspires me to follow my dreams take life with an open mind.
Here is a snippet from a journal entry that I wrote two days ago:
As I write this I am sitting in a jungle listening to birds singing in the distance and basking in the soft glow of the sun that streams through the canopy. Garet and Sandro are nearby, creating structure to the garden that is my jungle. I smoke bamboo cigarettes and sip water from glass bottles as I listen to them speak the world's most beautiful language.
The other day I was driven through mountain roads and past herds of cows and sheep to the home of my ancestors. Abruzzi was more beautiful than I could have ever imafined and I now understand my love for the natural, for the mountains and for a simple life. I was surrounded on all sides by rocky blue mountains that rose to the heavens and rolling green pastures that inspired a desire to walk among its grasses for the rest of my days. We arrived at a spot in the center of the mountains where hundreds upon hundreds of people were gathered to celebrate the festival of sheep and to eat the food that uplifts the soul. All was white, green and blue--the herds of sheep led by their faithful Maremma sheep dogs, the unspoiled grass wrought by the hands of God and the endless sky which was dotted with octopus and flying rainbows.
The Abruzese had erected lines of cloud white tents from which smoky scents of fresh meat and the sweet perfume of honey wafted into the cool breeze. Upon entering the crowds of people, Sandro declared that it was time to eat and time to drink (even though it was only 10 in the morning). He waited among the throngs of italians, waiting impatiently for his fresh meat panini. While I waited for my lunch, I listened to the preists chanting prayers to the crows and watched red, white and green billow in the breeze. Sandro returned from the chaos with a fresh proscuitto panini and gorgeous white bread and a bottle of local wine for us all to share. Less than two hours later it was time to eat again and we sat on the side of a grassy hill, watching the sheep down below and eating more proscuitto with pecorine cheese. You have not had cheese until you have had this. Made from sheep, it is a soft, moldable yellow/white spread that is so strong it could transform the taste of any food. We slathered it on our sandwiches and the delightfully pungent taste and smell of this cheese was so good that if I had died sitting on that hill, I would've died in heaven. God must trucks full of this cheese in heaven. We once again walked among the people, petting beautiful dogs, taking pictures and drinking wine from the bottle. This didn't last, because before too long, it was again time to eat. We made our way to the top of the hill, to a large pasture, where a small wooden meat shop stood. People were everywhere, walking among the vendors, grilling their food and sitting at wooden tables eating grilled corn on the cob and meat, meat, meat. Sandro and his brother, Massamiliano braved the crowds of people waiting for their fresh meat while Alessandra (Max's girlfriend) and I sat outside listening to the music. Everywhere were old men belting out songs of love and passion, while playing accordions and fiddles and harmonicas. My favorite song had the repetitive chorus of "ti amo, ti amo, ti amo" (I love you) and I made sure to film this beautiful performance. When the men returned, we took our sheep meat on sticks to a nearby grill and cooked them until they were smoky black. We feasted on our fresh lunch with wine and cheese and laughed at the rambunctious Abruzese (singing and dancing like today was the happiest days of their lives). Sandro and his brother called it the sheep woodstock and I can imagine that this festival was very similar to the famous music festival (just without the drugs).
Ill write more soon, about planting the fieds, peppers as green as the grass of Abruzzi and delicious fried zuchini flowers...
Love you all,
Bela
Roman Countryside
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
As Sweet as Rafiki's Figs
Sorry I didnt have internet for a few days so you might get a wave of posts coming soon! Lots to write about from hippies who live in a van, shooting stars and midnite dinners after the bars (just a preview)
I think Ive been brainwashed. All of a sudden I not only can stand the 70s funk that is constantly blasting through the speakers, but I think I actually like it. I hear my favorite songs come on and I can sing along and laugh when Sandro dances terribly. I also love pulling weeds. What is that? I get an odd sense of satisfaction as I hear and feel the roots pulling from the soil and I leave green destruction in my wake. Maybe its all the parts put together...the sound of crunching roots, the wonderful feeling of mud coating my fingers, the sun hot on my neck and billie holiday belting into my ears.
On Wednesday night Sandro and I had dinner at the veterinarians house (father of the bike riding boys). Saying this was the most delicious feast I have ever had the honor of partaking in is an understatement. Once again, Italy was on a crusade to turn me into a hippopotamus as I was served enough food to sate Tommy and Mark's (my enormous brothers) Thanksgiving eating contests. We started off with red wine and fresh baked bread and a platter of melon and proscuitto (my very favorite). We then dove into the most delicious bean casserole-white beans, herbs and tuna. Next came the home made fettucine, cooked with plentiful sovory asparagus and pancetta. I usually stay away from asparagus (it turns your pee neon yellow) but My God was this asparagus good! Now at this point I was on my way to explosion, but the Italians didnt seem to notice as a pan full of roast chicken, sausage and golden fried potatoes was placed in front of me. I crammed as much crunchy meat into my mouth as was humanly possible and helped myself to two servings of potatoes that could make Ronald McDonald cry with envy. At this point I was tempted to follow in Chucks wise footsteps and unbluckle my belt (if I were wearing one) so I could make room for more food). We then feasted on Fresh tomato slices, mozarrella and basil drizzled in oil and out of the warm oven came heaven in a dish...a perfectly made fig pie. O Mio Dio! Pie was accompanied by gelato and cafe and the evening was finished with a shot or two of grappa. I'm quite sure that one dinner can not get any better. The Italians got it right...they know how to enjoy their food and they induglge their tummies with patience, letting dinner span into the late night or early hours of the morning.
I must look like a body builder to the Italians. I have gotten so many comments about how I am a strong girl that I am starting to think I must have muscle veins popping out of my neck like a weight lifter on steroids. On one visit into Rome, the same man who asked me to live with him, looked at me and said "you are a strong girl". Now to me, thats a strange comment. And the boys. My riding team thinks I am so strong that one of the boys even asked if he culd feel my calf muscle. Their father assures me that its not because I look like a barbaric xena warrior, but rather they know I am strong because (in their opinion), I run super fast-to the bar of the next town and back. Gianpoalo especially thinks I am strong as he noted at dinner that my arms are strong, my legs are strong, my stomach is strong and even my neck is strong. But this is also the boy who is entranced by my hair (I once caught him kissing it).
So wonderful news-I havent gained weight! Or if I have, it isnt much. Preparing myself for devastation, I tried on a pair of shorts and a pair of pants that fit me just right before I left for Italy. I pulled them up my legs (success), fit them over my butt (again success), zipped the zipper (Am I dreaming?) and then buttoned the button (incredible!). I actually ran from my room, grinning like a fool and shouted at Sandro (Italy hasnt made me fat yet!). That was a good day.
On Tuesday, Sandro's father Venicio came home with us. Sandro's mother is around the age of 50 while Venicio is at the ripe old age of 80. He is full of stories and boasts of his treasured museum, found to the side of Sandro's garage. The museum is unbelievable, worthy of the pictures I took, as it houses old wood covered wagons, weaving looms, african machetes and arrows and pictures from the 1940s of himself with american indians. The objects he has acquired over the years are incredible, and I especially loved the books that dated as far back as 1857. He is letting me read an old french book from 1927. Anya if I could take it for you, I would in a second...what a birthday present that would be! Even at the age of 80, Venicio has not lost his work ethic, and I see him clearing away weeds for a bocci court under the hot sun or axing at weeds beside his museum. Speaking of bocci, the pro that I am, I beat Venicio at his favorite game yesterday (a close win of 5-4). O the sweet taste of victory.
After four weeks in Cannetto Sabino I have become somewhat of a regular at the local bar and when I arrive in the mornings, without being asked, the bartender prepares a creamy cappucino for me. Ive always wanted to say "Ill have the usual" and that day has finally come! On our way back from errands the other night, we ran into Aurelio (the oldest man in Cannetto) and he again gave me presents of fresh, succulent fruit. When I thanked him he told Sandro that he requires no thanks because my presence is like the gift of fresh fruit (so he is just returning the favor). He also told Sandro that we look beautiful together and should get married. Hahaha. Aurelio makes me think of the blue butted baboon Rafiki in the lion king because I can just imagine him shouting and dancing around with his walking stick if he ever saw me and Sandro so much as hug. I Dont really know why I think of Rafiki, but I just think of the reaction the baboon has when he finds out Simba is alive...I think Aurelio is capable of the same crazy dancing and monkey hollering.
Most nights after I have doused my arms and legs in bugspray, I ask Sandro to tell me a story. I dont ask because I like the stories (although Im sure I would if I understood the words), but rather because the Italian is like a lullabye, beautiful word after beautiful word falling from his lips. Italian is enchanting and I find myself lost in thoughtless trances when I hear italian spoken around me.
Yesterday Sandro, Matteo and I drove to Toffia, a nearby medieval town that rivals the beauty of Fara Sabina. Again with narrow cobble stoned streets, flowers hanging from iron windowsills and big wooden doors, I was convinced that someday fate would lead me to live in this beautiful town. Set high up on a mountain, I would be safe from brutal vikings, barbaric xenas and enticing ronald mcDonalds in my stone fortressed medieval village. The views were incredible, looking out over the entire valley and the streets were a series of twists and turns, stairs and bumps that a volkswagon would have trouble driving down. Before we left, we made our way through the confusing streets to Sandro's friends house. We were greeted by a shoeless man, wearing brown linen pants, a button down floral shirt and many earrings and rings. His house smelled of incense, was decorated with brightly colored tapestries and weed and herbs were strewn across the table. He was a hippie at heart and had moved from Wales to Italy to pursue his career in theater. I sat in his home, listening to reggae and breathing in herby fumes and all I could think about were two people very dear to me: Lily Merat and Roy Cutler. I thought of Lily because I imagine her living in a home very similar to the one I was sitting in. I picture her sitting at an old wooden table, surrounded by friends, reggae and the smell of incense and herbs. I was sitting in her future. I thought of Roy because I imagined him meeting this man and becoming instant friends. I couldnt stop thinking about how perfect it would be for them to talk of their bands, their passion for theater and their world experiences.
We went to the open market on Sunday morning (every Sunday morning I can be heard singing "sunday morning" by Maroon Five nonstop) where hundreds of tents were set up along the road and in the field, creating a maze of shoes, toys and fresh cheese. On Sunday they have a special market where they sell animals and I felt a bit terribe about leaning against the fences and peering into the cages at these poor animals who constantly get poked and touched and cooed at by annoying women who reek of perfume. As we stood watching the beautiful cows and horses, I couldnt stop thinking about slave trading and how incredibly awful that time must have been. But anyways, all of the animals were beautiful and I loved the smell of hay, manure and fresh air. There were pink pigs, adorable bunnies, puppies, baby ducks, chickens, cows, horses, ponies, mules, donkeys, mice...just about anything you could ever want. It was such a weird experience, people walking around with cotton candy and sausages as they bought cows, pans from the man who was doing a live cooking demonstration on microphone, fresh meat and toy cars. After Sandro carefully picked out five chickens (he always buys an odd number because he hates having an even number of anything) we ventured to the fresh food area of the market. There was bottled olive oil, yellow wheels of cheese, strings of sausage and snails in baskets. I was lured to the stand with fresh tapenade spreads and after trying them all I chose a light orange organic dip made from zuchini...soooo good! After, I left Sandro with his friends and found my weakness..shoes. There were so many beautiful pairs of shoes but of course (seeing as Im a xena warrior giant) the Italians dont accomodate gigantor feeted Americans very well. With a size nine foot, or size 40, it was quite difficult finding a pair that fit my feet. But after minutes of searching I found an adorable pair of green high heels and I couldnt resist buying them since they were only 6E! Might as well take advantage of an opportunity when it comes along.
That night I went to a country horse show with Matteo's girlfriend Elena. On the way to the show we talked about soccer in Italy and how it is very hard to gain respect as a female player. She said that in Italy soccer is considered solely a men's sport and that any women who play have to endure endless jokes and frustrating comments. Women soccer players are considered manly, lesbian or just strange. Man, I think I would go crazy in Italy! If any guy tried to make fun of me for playing the country's national sport, I would just have to school him with my skills. At home, I get some comments from ignorant and stupid guys who think I cant keep up with them, but after a few times of playing with them it usually gets better. One of my friends at Skidmore wrote a paper on the stereotypes and obstacles of female athletes and during the interview I told her that for a girl, almost always you are considered bad until you prove that you are good and any guy is considered good until he proves that he is not. But at least in America I have that chance to prove myself.
I usually don't enjoy horse shows or horse races, but this show was much different. It was a small ring in the absolute middle of nowhere. We sat on the grass hill in front of the ring which was surrounded by blue mountains, green fields and the setting sun. Everyone was wearing cowboy hats and eating peanuts and we all cheered as the horses executed the jumps and turns perfectly. That night we returned to Sandro's house where we had a barbecue with 15 of his closest friends. We made a fire in the back yard and made a make-shift grill with an iron grate. We ate sausages, sides of pork, pototoes and whole onions, charred to perfection, and drank wine with oiled bread. Reggae blasted from the stereo and we all sat around on wooden benches enjoying our feast. At the end of the night I held Chloe, our friends little baby girl. I rocked back and forth with the sleeping baby, singing lullabyes and rubbing her little toes. She was beautiful. So believe it or not, even with all the wine I drink everyday, last night was the first night I have been drunk. Not too drunk mind you, but drunk enough to be very tired and see the stars spin around me. I definitely don't miss getting drunk and Im definitely not ready for school parties to start up yet. But no worries, I woke up perfectly fine and healthy, not one second of a hangover to show for my cups of wine the night before :)
Until next time, much love,
Bella
I think Ive been brainwashed. All of a sudden I not only can stand the 70s funk that is constantly blasting through the speakers, but I think I actually like it. I hear my favorite songs come on and I can sing along and laugh when Sandro dances terribly. I also love pulling weeds. What is that? I get an odd sense of satisfaction as I hear and feel the roots pulling from the soil and I leave green destruction in my wake. Maybe its all the parts put together...the sound of crunching roots, the wonderful feeling of mud coating my fingers, the sun hot on my neck and billie holiday belting into my ears.
On Wednesday night Sandro and I had dinner at the veterinarians house (father of the bike riding boys). Saying this was the most delicious feast I have ever had the honor of partaking in is an understatement. Once again, Italy was on a crusade to turn me into a hippopotamus as I was served enough food to sate Tommy and Mark's (my enormous brothers) Thanksgiving eating contests. We started off with red wine and fresh baked bread and a platter of melon and proscuitto (my very favorite). We then dove into the most delicious bean casserole-white beans, herbs and tuna. Next came the home made fettucine, cooked with plentiful sovory asparagus and pancetta. I usually stay away from asparagus (it turns your pee neon yellow) but My God was this asparagus good! Now at this point I was on my way to explosion, but the Italians didnt seem to notice as a pan full of roast chicken, sausage and golden fried potatoes was placed in front of me. I crammed as much crunchy meat into my mouth as was humanly possible and helped myself to two servings of potatoes that could make Ronald McDonald cry with envy. At this point I was tempted to follow in Chucks wise footsteps and unbluckle my belt (if I were wearing one) so I could make room for more food). We then feasted on Fresh tomato slices, mozarrella and basil drizzled in oil and out of the warm oven came heaven in a dish...a perfectly made fig pie. O Mio Dio! Pie was accompanied by gelato and cafe and the evening was finished with a shot or two of grappa. I'm quite sure that one dinner can not get any better. The Italians got it right...they know how to enjoy their food and they induglge their tummies with patience, letting dinner span into the late night or early hours of the morning.
I must look like a body builder to the Italians. I have gotten so many comments about how I am a strong girl that I am starting to think I must have muscle veins popping out of my neck like a weight lifter on steroids. On one visit into Rome, the same man who asked me to live with him, looked at me and said "you are a strong girl". Now to me, thats a strange comment. And the boys. My riding team thinks I am so strong that one of the boys even asked if he culd feel my calf muscle. Their father assures me that its not because I look like a barbaric xena warrior, but rather they know I am strong because (in their opinion), I run super fast-to the bar of the next town and back. Gianpoalo especially thinks I am strong as he noted at dinner that my arms are strong, my legs are strong, my stomach is strong and even my neck is strong. But this is also the boy who is entranced by my hair (I once caught him kissing it).
So wonderful news-I havent gained weight! Or if I have, it isnt much. Preparing myself for devastation, I tried on a pair of shorts and a pair of pants that fit me just right before I left for Italy. I pulled them up my legs (success), fit them over my butt (again success), zipped the zipper (Am I dreaming?) and then buttoned the button (incredible!). I actually ran from my room, grinning like a fool and shouted at Sandro (Italy hasnt made me fat yet!). That was a good day.
On Tuesday, Sandro's father Venicio came home with us. Sandro's mother is around the age of 50 while Venicio is at the ripe old age of 80. He is full of stories and boasts of his treasured museum, found to the side of Sandro's garage. The museum is unbelievable, worthy of the pictures I took, as it houses old wood covered wagons, weaving looms, african machetes and arrows and pictures from the 1940s of himself with american indians. The objects he has acquired over the years are incredible, and I especially loved the books that dated as far back as 1857. He is letting me read an old french book from 1927. Anya if I could take it for you, I would in a second...what a birthday present that would be! Even at the age of 80, Venicio has not lost his work ethic, and I see him clearing away weeds for a bocci court under the hot sun or axing at weeds beside his museum. Speaking of bocci, the pro that I am, I beat Venicio at his favorite game yesterday (a close win of 5-4). O the sweet taste of victory.
After four weeks in Cannetto Sabino I have become somewhat of a regular at the local bar and when I arrive in the mornings, without being asked, the bartender prepares a creamy cappucino for me. Ive always wanted to say "Ill have the usual" and that day has finally come! On our way back from errands the other night, we ran into Aurelio (the oldest man in Cannetto) and he again gave me presents of fresh, succulent fruit. When I thanked him he told Sandro that he requires no thanks because my presence is like the gift of fresh fruit (so he is just returning the favor). He also told Sandro that we look beautiful together and should get married. Hahaha. Aurelio makes me think of the blue butted baboon Rafiki in the lion king because I can just imagine him shouting and dancing around with his walking stick if he ever saw me and Sandro so much as hug. I Dont really know why I think of Rafiki, but I just think of the reaction the baboon has when he finds out Simba is alive...I think Aurelio is capable of the same crazy dancing and monkey hollering.
Most nights after I have doused my arms and legs in bugspray, I ask Sandro to tell me a story. I dont ask because I like the stories (although Im sure I would if I understood the words), but rather because the Italian is like a lullabye, beautiful word after beautiful word falling from his lips. Italian is enchanting and I find myself lost in thoughtless trances when I hear italian spoken around me.
Yesterday Sandro, Matteo and I drove to Toffia, a nearby medieval town that rivals the beauty of Fara Sabina. Again with narrow cobble stoned streets, flowers hanging from iron windowsills and big wooden doors, I was convinced that someday fate would lead me to live in this beautiful town. Set high up on a mountain, I would be safe from brutal vikings, barbaric xenas and enticing ronald mcDonalds in my stone fortressed medieval village. The views were incredible, looking out over the entire valley and the streets were a series of twists and turns, stairs and bumps that a volkswagon would have trouble driving down. Before we left, we made our way through the confusing streets to Sandro's friends house. We were greeted by a shoeless man, wearing brown linen pants, a button down floral shirt and many earrings and rings. His house smelled of incense, was decorated with brightly colored tapestries and weed and herbs were strewn across the table. He was a hippie at heart and had moved from Wales to Italy to pursue his career in theater. I sat in his home, listening to reggae and breathing in herby fumes and all I could think about were two people very dear to me: Lily Merat and Roy Cutler. I thought of Lily because I imagine her living in a home very similar to the one I was sitting in. I picture her sitting at an old wooden table, surrounded by friends, reggae and the smell of incense and herbs. I was sitting in her future. I thought of Roy because I imagined him meeting this man and becoming instant friends. I couldnt stop thinking about how perfect it would be for them to talk of their bands, their passion for theater and their world experiences.
We went to the open market on Sunday morning (every Sunday morning I can be heard singing "sunday morning" by Maroon Five nonstop) where hundreds of tents were set up along the road and in the field, creating a maze of shoes, toys and fresh cheese. On Sunday they have a special market where they sell animals and I felt a bit terribe about leaning against the fences and peering into the cages at these poor animals who constantly get poked and touched and cooed at by annoying women who reek of perfume. As we stood watching the beautiful cows and horses, I couldnt stop thinking about slave trading and how incredibly awful that time must have been. But anyways, all of the animals were beautiful and I loved the smell of hay, manure and fresh air. There were pink pigs, adorable bunnies, puppies, baby ducks, chickens, cows, horses, ponies, mules, donkeys, mice...just about anything you could ever want. It was such a weird experience, people walking around with cotton candy and sausages as they bought cows, pans from the man who was doing a live cooking demonstration on microphone, fresh meat and toy cars. After Sandro carefully picked out five chickens (he always buys an odd number because he hates having an even number of anything) we ventured to the fresh food area of the market. There was bottled olive oil, yellow wheels of cheese, strings of sausage and snails in baskets. I was lured to the stand with fresh tapenade spreads and after trying them all I chose a light orange organic dip made from zuchini...soooo good! After, I left Sandro with his friends and found my weakness..shoes. There were so many beautiful pairs of shoes but of course (seeing as Im a xena warrior giant) the Italians dont accomodate gigantor feeted Americans very well. With a size nine foot, or size 40, it was quite difficult finding a pair that fit my feet. But after minutes of searching I found an adorable pair of green high heels and I couldnt resist buying them since they were only 6E! Might as well take advantage of an opportunity when it comes along.
That night I went to a country horse show with Matteo's girlfriend Elena. On the way to the show we talked about soccer in Italy and how it is very hard to gain respect as a female player. She said that in Italy soccer is considered solely a men's sport and that any women who play have to endure endless jokes and frustrating comments. Women soccer players are considered manly, lesbian or just strange. Man, I think I would go crazy in Italy! If any guy tried to make fun of me for playing the country's national sport, I would just have to school him with my skills. At home, I get some comments from ignorant and stupid guys who think I cant keep up with them, but after a few times of playing with them it usually gets better. One of my friends at Skidmore wrote a paper on the stereotypes and obstacles of female athletes and during the interview I told her that for a girl, almost always you are considered bad until you prove that you are good and any guy is considered good until he proves that he is not. But at least in America I have that chance to prove myself.
I usually don't enjoy horse shows or horse races, but this show was much different. It was a small ring in the absolute middle of nowhere. We sat on the grass hill in front of the ring which was surrounded by blue mountains, green fields and the setting sun. Everyone was wearing cowboy hats and eating peanuts and we all cheered as the horses executed the jumps and turns perfectly. That night we returned to Sandro's house where we had a barbecue with 15 of his closest friends. We made a fire in the back yard and made a make-shift grill with an iron grate. We ate sausages, sides of pork, pototoes and whole onions, charred to perfection, and drank wine with oiled bread. Reggae blasted from the stereo and we all sat around on wooden benches enjoying our feast. At the end of the night I held Chloe, our friends little baby girl. I rocked back and forth with the sleeping baby, singing lullabyes and rubbing her little toes. She was beautiful. So believe it or not, even with all the wine I drink everyday, last night was the first night I have been drunk. Not too drunk mind you, but drunk enough to be very tired and see the stars spin around me. I definitely don't miss getting drunk and Im definitely not ready for school parties to start up yet. But no worries, I woke up perfectly fine and healthy, not one second of a hangover to show for my cups of wine the night before :)
Until next time, much love,
Bella
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
A Theiving Day in Rome
I stole today. I have become a grappa drinking, cigarette smoking (even if its just a little bit), italian cursing, criminal. Rome has corrupted me to the core. Let me explain...
Today was an early day...ok maybe not that early...I woke up to a refreshing cold shower at 8am. We drove with the boys into the heart of Rome, Sandro late for his friends funeral mass. Side note-Sandro never onced referred to the mass as a funeral but rather a celebration, which I thought was quite accurate. (Since when did we stop rejoicing the lives of those who have passed, remembering them with smiles-even if bittersweet-that they deserve. Would our dead loved ones really want to see us in such immense grief?) He dropped me at our usual meeting point, the street that leads up to the Vatican, and I proceeded down the Via Della Conzilliazone among crowds of religios people hoping to find themselves one step closer to God and those just hoping to lay their eyes upon the centuries old masterpeice of Michaelangelo. Wearing cotton shorts that were about 1 inch longer than "booty shorts" and a sleeveless tanktop, I really had no intention of entering the smallest country in the world. But then I met a skinny man with an accent I couldnt quite place (who would later scrawl his telephone number and email address on the tour brochure so I could call him the next time I was in Rome). I was skeptical at first when he told me that I could skip the line to see the Vatican that stretched around corners and corners of streets-hundreds of people standing in the hot sun. Now is that really fair for me to walk by all those feet aching and sweat soaked shirted tourists? But the man was adorable, talking to me about school and Fara Sabina, so I decided to follow him through the crowds to the already waiting tour group. The tour was waiting in a little cafe on a side street where I mete my adorable tour guide who was excited that I was Italian and applauded my courage to travel alone. I was given a headset and shawls to cover my naked knees and shoulders and although I saw people paying the 45E fee, for some reason I did not feel compelled to get into line. We left the cafe after I enjoyed a croissant and cafe and we made our way to the entrance of the Vatican Museum. We walked by people, impatient in the hot sun, and arrived at the entrance in less than 5 minutes. I have never seen more history first hand in my entire life. Everything was art. Everything was hundreds, if not thousands of years old-the frescoes, floors, ceilings, tapestries and statue upon statue, upon statue.. I was feet away from ancient Greek carvings, could almost touch the tapestries woven in the 16th century, depicting Jesus' life, and I stood beneath the ceiling that took three years to complete. I have to be honest, staring up at such incredible paintings, on a ceiling none the less, it was difficult to fully comprehend that one man alone had the imagination ,the skill and the patience to devise such an enormous work of art. I took puictures of everything, so you can all enjoy it...almost as if you were there with me. We made it to the end of the tour and I shamedly walked away, not a penny poorer, having seen one of the most famous chapels for free.
I was famished after two hours of walking and listening so I made my way towards the center of Rome with the sole purpose of finding delicious Italian food to fill my belly. I searched down tiny side streets, aware that the best food is always hidden, and I stumbled upon an enticing jewelry shop before I found my resturant of choice. There, I met Joseph, a graying man in his 50s who told me of his days in Boston when he was much younger and spry than he is now. I reminisced with him for a few minutes and he then directed me to the best resturaunt in the area, complete with air drawn maps and violent hand gestures. Suffice it to say, Joseph was right. This resturaunt was really good. I sat on the edge of the street, drinking a large glass of red wine as always, and eating fresh baked bread. For antipasto I dined on a platter of four different kinds of fish, drizzled in lemon and oil, none of which I recognized except the light pink salmon. But no matter, it was all delicious. I then enjoyed a fettucine dish with eggplant and zuchini and an orange sauce that I couldnt place. To finish, I was christened with a foamy, white mustache, as I slowly drank a creamy cappucino. I think Ill be full (sta gonfia) for the rest of my life.
Tradgedy strikes at the most inoportune times. We were waiting in a bar for our drinks, and all of a sudden my eye starts to throb and ooze gooey goo. Awesome. So thankfully I had my glasses with me and I was able to take out my contacts. But alas, not even that worked. While Sandro talked with his friends, worrying about my pained state, I lay in the car crying over my gooey goo. When we picked up Sandro's father, Sandro returned with a vial of chamomile that resembled a withes potion. I dabbed my eyes with chamomile soaked cotton and of course this resulted in a scratched eye. Perche Dio! So I lay in bed, unable to open one eye, no exaggertion, when Sandro appears with yet another home remedy. He presents with a halved, raw potato which he instructs me to place over my eyes, while I blink continously. I dont know hoe, but the eye which I could barely open moments before, now felt good as new, (even if I still looked like a vampire). O the magic of potatoes! So now Ive been healed, like the blind by Jesus, and the testimony to this miracle lies on my dresser-two mascara stained, good laden raw potatoes. Amazing!
Buona Notte,
Bella
Today was an early day...ok maybe not that early...I woke up to a refreshing cold shower at 8am. We drove with the boys into the heart of Rome, Sandro late for his friends funeral mass. Side note-Sandro never onced referred to the mass as a funeral but rather a celebration, which I thought was quite accurate. (Since when did we stop rejoicing the lives of those who have passed, remembering them with smiles-even if bittersweet-that they deserve. Would our dead loved ones really want to see us in such immense grief?) He dropped me at our usual meeting point, the street that leads up to the Vatican, and I proceeded down the Via Della Conzilliazone among crowds of religios people hoping to find themselves one step closer to God and those just hoping to lay their eyes upon the centuries old masterpeice of Michaelangelo. Wearing cotton shorts that were about 1 inch longer than "booty shorts" and a sleeveless tanktop, I really had no intention of entering the smallest country in the world. But then I met a skinny man with an accent I couldnt quite place (who would later scrawl his telephone number and email address on the tour brochure so I could call him the next time I was in Rome). I was skeptical at first when he told me that I could skip the line to see the Vatican that stretched around corners and corners of streets-hundreds of people standing in the hot sun. Now is that really fair for me to walk by all those feet aching and sweat soaked shirted tourists? But the man was adorable, talking to me about school and Fara Sabina, so I decided to follow him through the crowds to the already waiting tour group. The tour was waiting in a little cafe on a side street where I mete my adorable tour guide who was excited that I was Italian and applauded my courage to travel alone. I was given a headset and shawls to cover my naked knees and shoulders and although I saw people paying the 45E fee, for some reason I did not feel compelled to get into line. We left the cafe after I enjoyed a croissant and cafe and we made our way to the entrance of the Vatican Museum. We walked by people, impatient in the hot sun, and arrived at the entrance in less than 5 minutes. I have never seen more history first hand in my entire life. Everything was art. Everything was hundreds, if not thousands of years old-the frescoes, floors, ceilings, tapestries and statue upon statue, upon statue.. I was feet away from ancient Greek carvings, could almost touch the tapestries woven in the 16th century, depicting Jesus' life, and I stood beneath the ceiling that took three years to complete. I have to be honest, staring up at such incredible paintings, on a ceiling none the less, it was difficult to fully comprehend that one man alone had the imagination ,the skill and the patience to devise such an enormous work of art. I took puictures of everything, so you can all enjoy it...almost as if you were there with me. We made it to the end of the tour and I shamedly walked away, not a penny poorer, having seen one of the most famous chapels for free.
I was famished after two hours of walking and listening so I made my way towards the center of Rome with the sole purpose of finding delicious Italian food to fill my belly. I searched down tiny side streets, aware that the best food is always hidden, and I stumbled upon an enticing jewelry shop before I found my resturant of choice. There, I met Joseph, a graying man in his 50s who told me of his days in Boston when he was much younger and spry than he is now. I reminisced with him for a few minutes and he then directed me to the best resturaunt in the area, complete with air drawn maps and violent hand gestures. Suffice it to say, Joseph was right. This resturaunt was really good. I sat on the edge of the street, drinking a large glass of red wine as always, and eating fresh baked bread. For antipasto I dined on a platter of four different kinds of fish, drizzled in lemon and oil, none of which I recognized except the light pink salmon. But no matter, it was all delicious. I then enjoyed a fettucine dish with eggplant and zuchini and an orange sauce that I couldnt place. To finish, I was christened with a foamy, white mustache, as I slowly drank a creamy cappucino. I think Ill be full (sta gonfia) for the rest of my life.
Tradgedy strikes at the most inoportune times. We were waiting in a bar for our drinks, and all of a sudden my eye starts to throb and ooze gooey goo. Awesome. So thankfully I had my glasses with me and I was able to take out my contacts. But alas, not even that worked. While Sandro talked with his friends, worrying about my pained state, I lay in the car crying over my gooey goo. When we picked up Sandro's father, Sandro returned with a vial of chamomile that resembled a withes potion. I dabbed my eyes with chamomile soaked cotton and of course this resulted in a scratched eye. Perche Dio! So I lay in bed, unable to open one eye, no exaggertion, when Sandro appears with yet another home remedy. He presents with a halved, raw potato which he instructs me to place over my eyes, while I blink continously. I dont know hoe, but the eye which I could barely open moments before, now felt good as new, (even if I still looked like a vampire). O the magic of potatoes! So now Ive been healed, like the blind by Jesus, and the testimony to this miracle lies on my dresser-two mascara stained, good laden raw potatoes. Amazing!
Buona Notte,
Bella
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Beautiful People
The other day I met the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I'm not speaking of physical appearance, although in her many years she is very beautiful with crew-cut silver hair and eyes that seem to know everything. She exudes confidence and ease and speaks her mind easier than anyone I know. She is rough, and yes she is tough and she isn't afraid to yell jovial curses at Sandro when he is late for his deliveries. I can't really explain why I like this lady so much but she is the kind of person that I want to know. I feel that I could learn something from her.
All the people here are wonderful. The other day I was invited inside the house after running with the boys and I sat at the table with the mother and her son Gianpoalo who is studying english in school. We had a conversation half in english, half in italian about my school, running, President Obama and how Gianpoalo likes just about every country except Afghanistan. He is a seriously funny kid. They gave me a delicious bright red drink (which of course I forget the name of) and before I left they made sure to give me a present of chocolate peanuts, which I devoured in a day (chocolate is my weakeness). They insisted that Sandro and I come for dinner next week so I will be treated to a delicious home-cooked pasta meal and of course, delicious wine.
Tabaldo (probably not spelled right) and his family live in town and own a gorgeous greenhouse just up the rode from Sandro. They too are the most wonderful people and Tabaldo loves trying out his english words. When he figured out the name for pope, he would point at the distant lights and yell "there's the pope", and yesterday on the way to the music he called for me and Sandro "lets go brothers!". Haha I told him to use "guys" instead so for the rest of the night he would call "andiamo guys!".
The mother of the veterinarian (who is the father of the bike riding boys), affectionately called nonna which means grandmother, is an absolute sweetheart and she gives us fresh tomatoes from her garden and brings me water before I head off for my runs. And Aurelio, o Aurelio. He is the oldest man I have ever seen but has a spirit that never wanes. He always smiles when he sees me and informs me everytime that he can speak four languages (arabic being one of them), but of course he can't speak english...except bye-bye! He is the man I will buying the lovely olive oil from and the wine and fresh figs and fruit he brought me as a present were incredibly delicious and juicy.
It seems that Sandro knows everyone. We will be sitting outside at the bar and every person that comes in or drives by gets an "auuu-oooo!". It would be so nice to have such a close-knit village. Maybe someday.
Bouna Notte
Bella
All the people here are wonderful. The other day I was invited inside the house after running with the boys and I sat at the table with the mother and her son Gianpoalo who is studying english in school. We had a conversation half in english, half in italian about my school, running, President Obama and how Gianpoalo likes just about every country except Afghanistan. He is a seriously funny kid. They gave me a delicious bright red drink (which of course I forget the name of) and before I left they made sure to give me a present of chocolate peanuts, which I devoured in a day (chocolate is my weakeness). They insisted that Sandro and I come for dinner next week so I will be treated to a delicious home-cooked pasta meal and of course, delicious wine.
Tabaldo (probably not spelled right) and his family live in town and own a gorgeous greenhouse just up the rode from Sandro. They too are the most wonderful people and Tabaldo loves trying out his english words. When he figured out the name for pope, he would point at the distant lights and yell "there's the pope", and yesterday on the way to the music he called for me and Sandro "lets go brothers!". Haha I told him to use "guys" instead so for the rest of the night he would call "andiamo guys!".
The mother of the veterinarian (who is the father of the bike riding boys), affectionately called nonna which means grandmother, is an absolute sweetheart and she gives us fresh tomatoes from her garden and brings me water before I head off for my runs. And Aurelio, o Aurelio. He is the oldest man I have ever seen but has a spirit that never wanes. He always smiles when he sees me and informs me everytime that he can speak four languages (arabic being one of them), but of course he can't speak english...except bye-bye! He is the man I will buying the lovely olive oil from and the wine and fresh figs and fruit he brought me as a present were incredibly delicious and juicy.
It seems that Sandro knows everyone. We will be sitting outside at the bar and every person that comes in or drives by gets an "auuu-oooo!". It would be so nice to have such a close-knit village. Maybe someday.
Bouna Notte
Bella
Soul Consuming Jazz
Last night Sandro and I rode through the countryside in his failing blue van. He yells "cautione (definitely not spelled right) as he revs the engine and barrels up the hills to avoid stalling halfway to the top. We drive through mountains and past the expanses of twinkling lights down below on the steady climb to the medievl town of Fara Sabina. With each sharp turn he sounds the horn to alert oncoming cars of his passage and with every twist of the road I get thrown from side to side-from Sandro's arm to the opposite door. I love it...exhilirating knowing that if I don't pay attention I might end up on the floor. We arrived at the main road to Fara only to see a long line of cars, like impatient first graders waiting for recess. We parked along the side of the road and made the long trek up the many hills to the heart of the beating town. As we approached the stone wall that encompasses the tree lined walkway, our friends called down from up above (my bike riding friends, their father the veterinarian and their beautiful mother). Along the walkway were children winding in and out of legs, stands selling beautiful wood carved bowls, glass blown jewelry and pocket knifes and the always present gelato stands. Before venturing to the music we stopped in the bar for the delightfully painful Grippa and a chat with some friends. The walk to the center of Fara Sabina is like nothing I have ever seen before. Picture the most romantic cobblestoned, narrow street and wooden doored town that you only see in movies, and that is Fara Sabina. We walked through a high arched iron gateway and entered into beauty incarnate. The cobblstones made it dreadfully hard to walk in so high heeled boots but of course I didnt mind and with the throngs of Italians we made our way through tiny streets, high stone buildings and brightly colored laundry flapping in the wind. I told Sandro that someday this is the place I will live. I have to. I need to. Its imperative to my being that I someday reside in the dreamlike streets of Fara Sabina. Vines and red flowers hung from iron windows and children fled behind large oak doors while the nonna's of town yelled from the windows and smiled on all the passerby. We made it to the center of the village where a large stage was set up, facing hundreds of cheering, beer drinking europeans. Everywhere people were drinking and smoking and dancing along with the trombones, saxophones and jazzy guitars. It was too easy to get lost in the music. I sat on the steps of an old medieval house, consumed in jazz, beer in hand, watching the most beauiful people on earth sway to the music. When I walk through the streets and the crowds I constantly get stared down by the women and of course I thought: "they've spotted me! The imposter...what the hell is an American doing here at our jazz festival?" But before I could dwell on this further, Sandro pointed out this fact and told me all the women are "inviduous", by which he means envious. HAHA at least its better than all the woman wanting to expose me as a fraud. We made our way back down the stone streets to the walkway where a 10 piece jazz/funk band was playing and dancing funky music. I don't understand people who dont dance to this kind of music...the music forces you to tap your feet, then move your hips and finally let lose and let the music take over your body. I stood by myself, next to an exuberant french lady and we danced like fools to the beautiful music. It was beautiful. When the music was finally finished I sat on the stone ledge, feet hanging precariously over the ledge, watching the moon high above and the lights of Rome and the countryside. I'm quite sure that life cant get any better. Well actually maybe if you were all here it would be perfect.
Once again I have more to write but Ill finish later.
Love, love, love, always,
Bella
Once again I have more to write but Ill finish later.
Love, love, love, always,
Bella
A summer of many tongues
I speak four languages here: native english, high school french, broken (mostly curse word) italian, and exceptional gibberish. I am slowly learning to decipher the conversations and questions of other people by picking out the one, sometimes two words I understand and then using my "creative thought" (thank you Skidmore...their motto is "creative thought matters) to piece together the meaning. Last night, for example, my friend said something to her husband that involved the world "fredo" (cold). From my deductive reasoning I figured out that she was saying "the baby is cold" so I quickly placed my jacket over the baby. One point for Erin.
I am acquiring many useful skills here. An ability to live in peace with the spiders. They are my unwavering companions as they accompany me to bed, in the shower and at meals. I am learning to gain weight (even if its just a little bit) gracefully. I dont worry about what I eat here because I have to enjoy the tastes, the smells and the euphoria while it lasts. I am becoming a master of gestures. I know what Sandro is saying just by looking at his face and the movement of his hands. I am becoming an expert wine drinker and an adept fly swatter. Finally, after months of forgetting how to open my heart, I have learned to once again love everything about life. I have truly fallen in love with the people, the country and the simple life that is so beautiful it could break your heart. I relish every sound, every smell and every taste-I am in blissful content just standing in the doorway, eyes closed feeling the radiance of the stars soak into my skin and the night breeze tangle my hair. I wish I could share with all of the beauty of living off the land. The dogs and the crickets are my lullabye and the slowly cooked pancetta and zuchini pasta dish is my dream.
When I miss everyone from home, I simply look at my body and know that you are all here with me. I see the tattoo on my ankle and I am sitting at the bar eating chocolate gelato with Danielle and Melissa. I touch the silver bracelet and multi-colored orange wire on my wrist and I hear Mark and Jenny playing drums to the 70s funk escaping through the doorway. I twist the ring on my finger and I am sitting at the table with Nick, rolling a cigarette. The glint of copper in the sun and I am belting out Norah Jones with Emma as we pull the weeds from the hot soil. The feel of the cross against my chest and Ann is watching over me and the peace sign which I turn over and over in my hands and I can see Tommy running beside me to the bar to get ice cold gatorades. And when I run my fingers over the tattoo on my ribs, I know that Anya is laughing as she watches me dance like a fool to the jazz music in the town square.
I feel like Lance Armstrong. Every night at 7pm I am called from the fields or my glass of wine (A-REEN,A-REEN!!) and I know its time for my nightly ride. A day off is not an option here because I simply cannot let my devoted teammates down. Every night I run to the next town, flanked and followed by my boyfriends, my nine year old bike riding trainers. They ride close behind and close in front, lowering the impact of the wind and propelling me towards the finish line. Our checkpoint is the local bar where we stop for gatorades (which I chug in 3 seconds flat only to regret it as I get that familiar stich in my side on the run back).
I am learning to cook...me a real Italian cook! The other day I made a tasty lunch of fresh eggs, zuchini, pancetta and goat cheese and for dinner I made Sandro and I pasta with zuchini, sausage and eggs...so delicious! Yesterday Sandro treated me to a fresh proscuitto and mozarella pizza, sausage and mushrooms and the strange but delicious sausage and golden potatoes pizze pie. And on the side we had fried scallops and a tomato, cheese and rice fried concoction. It was unbelievable! Ill have to ask him again what the name of that heavenly food was.
Sandro is a pro with home remedies. He puts fresh squeezed lemon on my mosquito bites, olive oil on my scrapes (NO...NOT THE PRECIOUS OLIVE OIL!), makes me a chamomile concoction for my eye infection (I cannot believe that I have another eye infection), a glass of wine for a restful nights sleep and a raw egg for an energy boost. With a flawed healthcare system and a modest salary, I would say Sandro has become quite resourceful.
I need to go wash some dishes but I'll make sure to write about last nights jazz festival soon!
Ciao for now,
Bella
I am acquiring many useful skills here. An ability to live in peace with the spiders. They are my unwavering companions as they accompany me to bed, in the shower and at meals. I am learning to gain weight (even if its just a little bit) gracefully. I dont worry about what I eat here because I have to enjoy the tastes, the smells and the euphoria while it lasts. I am becoming a master of gestures. I know what Sandro is saying just by looking at his face and the movement of his hands. I am becoming an expert wine drinker and an adept fly swatter. Finally, after months of forgetting how to open my heart, I have learned to once again love everything about life. I have truly fallen in love with the people, the country and the simple life that is so beautiful it could break your heart. I relish every sound, every smell and every taste-I am in blissful content just standing in the doorway, eyes closed feeling the radiance of the stars soak into my skin and the night breeze tangle my hair. I wish I could share with all of the beauty of living off the land. The dogs and the crickets are my lullabye and the slowly cooked pancetta and zuchini pasta dish is my dream.
When I miss everyone from home, I simply look at my body and know that you are all here with me. I see the tattoo on my ankle and I am sitting at the bar eating chocolate gelato with Danielle and Melissa. I touch the silver bracelet and multi-colored orange wire on my wrist and I hear Mark and Jenny playing drums to the 70s funk escaping through the doorway. I twist the ring on my finger and I am sitting at the table with Nick, rolling a cigarette. The glint of copper in the sun and I am belting out Norah Jones with Emma as we pull the weeds from the hot soil. The feel of the cross against my chest and Ann is watching over me and the peace sign which I turn over and over in my hands and I can see Tommy running beside me to the bar to get ice cold gatorades. And when I run my fingers over the tattoo on my ribs, I know that Anya is laughing as she watches me dance like a fool to the jazz music in the town square.
I feel like Lance Armstrong. Every night at 7pm I am called from the fields or my glass of wine (A-REEN,A-REEN!!) and I know its time for my nightly ride. A day off is not an option here because I simply cannot let my devoted teammates down. Every night I run to the next town, flanked and followed by my boyfriends, my nine year old bike riding trainers. They ride close behind and close in front, lowering the impact of the wind and propelling me towards the finish line. Our checkpoint is the local bar where we stop for gatorades (which I chug in 3 seconds flat only to regret it as I get that familiar stich in my side on the run back).
I am learning to cook...me a real Italian cook! The other day I made a tasty lunch of fresh eggs, zuchini, pancetta and goat cheese and for dinner I made Sandro and I pasta with zuchini, sausage and eggs...so delicious! Yesterday Sandro treated me to a fresh proscuitto and mozarella pizza, sausage and mushrooms and the strange but delicious sausage and golden potatoes pizze pie. And on the side we had fried scallops and a tomato, cheese and rice fried concoction. It was unbelievable! Ill have to ask him again what the name of that heavenly food was.
Sandro is a pro with home remedies. He puts fresh squeezed lemon on my mosquito bites, olive oil on my scrapes (NO...NOT THE PRECIOUS OLIVE OIL!), makes me a chamomile concoction for my eye infection (I cannot believe that I have another eye infection), a glass of wine for a restful nights sleep and a raw egg for an energy boost. With a flawed healthcare system and a modest salary, I would say Sandro has become quite resourceful.
I need to go wash some dishes but I'll make sure to write about last nights jazz festival soon!
Ciao for now,
Bella
Thursday, July 22, 2010
A Day of Drinking
Monday was once again a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, sun so hot I was sweating just sitting in the shade. In the morning Sandro's friend Daniele rode up the drive on his motorcycle/scooter (don't really know what to call it, all I know is that it was unnessarily large for transporing one small man from place to place. Although maybe bigger is better. If he runs into any cursing, cigarette smoking car drivers en route, he just might survive on his hummer of a motorcycle). Anyways Monday was the auspicious day that I met my first gigolo/pimp. I mean a real life gigalo. I guess its not so strange in Rome because after explaining his job description in broken english, he then declared proudly that his girlfriend was five months pregnant with his daughter Sophie. I might have let escape an audible yell and a few choice words reserved for those times when all other words fail me. I peppered him with questions. "is your girlfriend ok with that", "what about your daughter" and things along those lines and Im pretty sure he understood about 5% of what I was saying because all he did was life. Well, whatever makes you happy I guess. We ate a delicious pasta dish accompanied with my favorite red wine and then all piled into the blue van for a trip to the bar. It was three in the afternoon and the drinking was already beginning. Sandro ordered a cold glass of grippa for me...mmm my favorite and when I alternated sip by sip from water to grippa, both Daniele and Sandro scolded me and told me I was ruining the liquor. Damn. I thought I was being sneaky. Its hard to describe grippa...it falls between whiskey and vodka (in strength and taste) so just picture me sitting in a bar, broad daylight, sipping the strongest alcohol ever made, wincing and slightly gagging with each taste. Perfect. To mitigate the burning taste of liquid death, I was treated to gelato and the creamy ice cream cooled off my smoking belly. That night, in the waning sunlight, Sandro and I rode the tractor to the nearby field where we filled up on fresh manure for his crops. As he used the smaller tractor to move all the horse shit, I climbed onto the roof of the tractor to listen to the sounds of chirping crickets and heavy machinery doing everything that man can not. On our third trip to the sweet smelling refuse (yes, I actually love the smell of manure), Sandro taught me how to drive the tractor and with shrills of laughter I clumsily, and slowly filled the tractor with enough manure to drown in. As we drove through the crops, the manure filled wagon assaulted the field, catupulting chunks of shit as the army of chickens followed in its wake. It was beautiful really. Riding on the tractor and looking back to see the setting sun, and chickens dodging the onslaught of deadly shit. That night I went for a run to the next town over and I returned to the sounds of 70s funk and reggae beats and Sandro banging away on his drums. I grabbed myself a glass of wine, took a seat and began playing a moroccan handrum, playing along with music fit for disco parties. We played for a long time, silent except for the drums, music consuming our souls as the man in the moon watched with effervescent wonder. After our musical hunger was sated, I retired on my bed of tarp and blanket and fell asleep under the watchful gaze of the luna.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Part 3: O Pizza
That night Sandro and I both took to the face a pizza each. I destroyed an entire pizza…my God what has come over me? It was delicious, thin and crispy with not too much sauce but plentiful cheese. And on top was a perfect spiral of Anchovies, which are very delicious and very salty. The cats loved it too. When we finished eating we went into town and had a second dinner at his friends house. We sat outside on their terrace which overlooks the entire valley and the mountains beyond. It was a beautiful night and we ate a rice dish, bread, watermelon and cake under the twinkling stars. We sat there for hours talking (me mostly trying to listen) and watching the bats swoop across the sky. On Sunday we set up a tent at the local market and sold onions, zucchini, figs, zucchini flowers and lettuce…o and fresh eggs. Sandro tried to convince me to eat raw eggs with him (he says it’s a good energy boost). I loved trying to talk to the customers saying buon giorno and ciao and the occasional how are you or what would you like today? I’m actually struggling to remember what we did Sunday night…wow my memory is failing me, O no I remember! On Sunday we went to a small music festival in Fara where sat on bench lined streets, sipping rum and grippa. For dinner we went to a nearby resturaunt and I have to say it was the worst service ever! It was the first time in Italy that I had to wait more than 15 minutes for my food, so this resturaunt was surely out of the loop when it took them two hours to bring me a friggin pizza. I would say it was worth the wait, but no, this was a completely average pizza.
Ok Im gonna run for now, Sandro just got back so Ill write later tonight…promise!
Ok Im gonna run for now, Sandro just got back so Ill write later tonight…promise!
Part 2: Gelato city
Saturday I returned to the city of gelato, hitching a ride in the big blue van, once again holding on for dear life as we whipped around turns, barrelled down dirt roads and stopped inches before the car in front of us. But not to worry, Sandro assures me that he has never been in an accident and that it would be impossible for him to get in one. It was a lazy visit to the city as the hot, hot day had me constantly searching for shade and a place to sit. Before I even got out of the car I was already soaked in sweat so you can imagine my state at the end of the day. (I really need to buy those oil face wipes). I spent most of the day eating, but that’s nothing new. I began my day at a small resturaunt near the Vatican where I enjoyed my favourite panini-proscuitto and mozzarella, and a delicious frozen cherry drink. From there I made my way to the piazza navona after sitting under a tree for a long time, reading my book and being asked constant questions by passing tourists. At the piazza I sat at a streetside café and ordered a bottle of red wine (yes a whole bottle just for moi) and a roman style artichoke…so very tasty! I sat in silent reverie, thanking the Lord with every bite I took. Upon leaving my waiter stopped me and asked me something in 100mph Italian and then modified to half English, half 50mph Italian when he saw my confused face. He asked me something along the lines of-do you want to get a drink with me later? He wanted to meet me much later hat night but I would already be long gone…back at the bottom of our small mountain. O well. Going on the waiter’s advice, I went to a small shop where I bought lots of pasta and of course another bottle of wine…a dry merlot. There were so many different kinds of pasta to choose from so I ended up getting a rather random assortment-from wheat linguine and multi-colored penne to chocolate sphaghetti. After paying for half of the store, the shopkeeper offered me a complimentary taste of the most delicious liquour (a creamy mango, peach). Over our mango liquors he asked me what I was doing in Rome and where I was staying. When I told him that I was living in Fara Sabina, he told me, all jokes aside, that I should live with him in Rome. And when I politely refused, because who says yes to that, he insisted that I come visit him at the shop the next time I come in to Rome. Hmm maybe not. From there I was once again too hot to walk for too long so I found myself at another streetside resturaunt where I ordered a plate of assorted grilled vegetables, o and another glass of wine. Breaded and grilled to perfection-eggplant, zucchini, mushrooms, onions and my favourite, red and yellow peppers. If there was one word to describe Italy it would be DELICIOUS. Saturday night I came back exhausted and proceeded to pass out in my bed for a small nap. One thing about life here is that I never, ever have trouble sleeping. As soon as I lay down, exhaustion takes over and I ease into dreams.
Theres more coming I promise…
Theres more coming I promise…
Letter to the team
So Im sorry that I haven’t written in a few days…sometimes Im too tired at the end of the day to type. I just wrote an email to my teammates and I think you’ll all appreciate what I wrote so Ill start out with that…
Buona nuota from Italy lovelies! I miss you all and everyday I just get more and more excited for soccer and most important…the talent show where the seniors are finally going to redeem ourselves from our freshman year origami lesson. How’s everyone’s summers going? Not too hot I hope. Here its almost a hundred everyday so even when I run at 8 at night I still completely sweat through my shirt. And Im getting the most beautiful sports bra tan you’ve ever seen…don’t make fun of me at pool workouts (my stomach is ghostly white!). So right now I am living in the Sabine Valley which is the complete boons just outside Rome. Sandro lives at the bottom of a mountain, down a long winding road (or rather a dirt lane with enormous tire bursting rocks everywhere). Everytime we drive around Italy Im sure that this will be the time I fly out the window, since no one wears seatbelts here. I think the Italians win the prize for the people that love to stare danger in the face. 1. No one wears seatbelts 2. Drivers are all madmen (and women)-people are constantly beeping and yelling e fianculo or taking their hands off the wheel to roll another cigarette, which brings me to 3. they all smoke like friggin chimneys here. They get packs of tobacco and rolling papers and smoke 20, maybe more a day. We’ll be driving on a road and all of a sudden Sandro will stop and say “now I smoke” 4. It is literally blasphemy to wear sunblock here or use bugspray, so if I die of skin cancer or west nile before preseason, blame it on the Italians. I’m not gonna lie, its been tough to motivate myself to run everyday because we usually work until late and then the wine drinking commences, and I start to get very, very tired. But then I think of you girls and how I couldn’t bear to let all of you beat me at the two mile :). Haha no seriously though, when I don’t want to run I just think about how I want us to have the best season ever this year, and me being a fat, out of shape wheezing runner won’t really help anyone. Its mostly just getting out of the door that’s the problem, because once I get beyond the trees that surround Sandro’s house, I just can’t stop running…I cant even describe how beautiful it is. Like I said before, we live at the very bottom of a mountain so it’s a tough run, but everytime I round a corner I just pray that this will be the stretch where my legs get a break. But, its always wishful thinking. Yesterday I started my run at 8.30, and I left to a chorus of “you crazy girl” and “I’m just going to sit here outside with my glass of wine and cigarette while you run”, Damn you Sandro, way to make it even harder for me to motivate myself! But as soon as I started picking up the pace, I was happy I ran away from the temptation of being a lazy bum. I ran through groves of olive trees and past small ponds and munching horses. Yesterdays run was one of the hardest Ive been on because the night before I didn’t sleep, since instead I took a midnite walk through the countryside and then tried to sleep in an open field under the stars. The sleeping didn’t happen but I did get to watch the most beautiful night sky and then the sun rise above the mountains. Not to mention, right before my run I had already had about four glasses of wine over dinner with Sandro. So picture me as a completely disoriented, wino(ed)-God I wish that were a word-American girl with black and neon green shoes running through the Italian countryside. One of the best parts of my runs are the men. Haha, I swear to you, Italian men are the most beautiful in the world, and I love yelling buona nuota, actually more like wheezing out some gibberish that makes me sound like a 90 year old smoker-and getting a smile back. The dogs keep me going. Everyone here has a dog (or three) which they keep behind locked fences. As I run by they all bark at me as if I were a serial killer or dongnapper or something. They get so worked up. But really I think they are critiquing me, seeing when Im going too slow and yelling at me to “Go Faster, Go Faster”! So much pressure, but I swear, everytime I run past dogs, I pick up the pace just a little bit. I think I also pick up the pace as I look back on what Id eaten that day, enough carbs to feed a small village and enough wine to kill it. I have pasta three times a day here, and I love it :). So I hope all of your running is going better than mine (I guess none of you have to worry about crazy scooters mowing you down around every corner) and when you’re struggling to get out the door, just think of the dogs. They’re always watching. Haha I love you guys and I cant wait to see you! Work hard and have a fun summer!
Ps-little Italian trick: if you can’t get your hands on chocolate milk or Gatorade after a game or a hard run, just do as the romans do and chomp down on a spoon full of sugar. I promise, it actually works-an instant energy rush.
Much love,
Erin (Bella)
Buona nuota from Italy lovelies! I miss you all and everyday I just get more and more excited for soccer and most important…the talent show where the seniors are finally going to redeem ourselves from our freshman year origami lesson. How’s everyone’s summers going? Not too hot I hope. Here its almost a hundred everyday so even when I run at 8 at night I still completely sweat through my shirt. And Im getting the most beautiful sports bra tan you’ve ever seen…don’t make fun of me at pool workouts (my stomach is ghostly white!). So right now I am living in the Sabine Valley which is the complete boons just outside Rome. Sandro lives at the bottom of a mountain, down a long winding road (or rather a dirt lane with enormous tire bursting rocks everywhere). Everytime we drive around Italy Im sure that this will be the time I fly out the window, since no one wears seatbelts here. I think the Italians win the prize for the people that love to stare danger in the face. 1. No one wears seatbelts 2. Drivers are all madmen (and women)-people are constantly beeping and yelling e fianculo or taking their hands off the wheel to roll another cigarette, which brings me to 3. they all smoke like friggin chimneys here. They get packs of tobacco and rolling papers and smoke 20, maybe more a day. We’ll be driving on a road and all of a sudden Sandro will stop and say “now I smoke” 4. It is literally blasphemy to wear sunblock here or use bugspray, so if I die of skin cancer or west nile before preseason, blame it on the Italians. I’m not gonna lie, its been tough to motivate myself to run everyday because we usually work until late and then the wine drinking commences, and I start to get very, very tired. But then I think of you girls and how I couldn’t bear to let all of you beat me at the two mile :). Haha no seriously though, when I don’t want to run I just think about how I want us to have the best season ever this year, and me being a fat, out of shape wheezing runner won’t really help anyone. Its mostly just getting out of the door that’s the problem, because once I get beyond the trees that surround Sandro’s house, I just can’t stop running…I cant even describe how beautiful it is. Like I said before, we live at the very bottom of a mountain so it’s a tough run, but everytime I round a corner I just pray that this will be the stretch where my legs get a break. But, its always wishful thinking. Yesterday I started my run at 8.30, and I left to a chorus of “you crazy girl” and “I’m just going to sit here outside with my glass of wine and cigarette while you run”, Damn you Sandro, way to make it even harder for me to motivate myself! But as soon as I started picking up the pace, I was happy I ran away from the temptation of being a lazy bum. I ran through groves of olive trees and past small ponds and munching horses. Yesterdays run was one of the hardest Ive been on because the night before I didn’t sleep, since instead I took a midnite walk through the countryside and then tried to sleep in an open field under the stars. The sleeping didn’t happen but I did get to watch the most beautiful night sky and then the sun rise above the mountains. Not to mention, right before my run I had already had about four glasses of wine over dinner with Sandro. So picture me as a completely disoriented, wino(ed)-God I wish that were a word-American girl with black and neon green shoes running through the Italian countryside. One of the best parts of my runs are the men. Haha, I swear to you, Italian men are the most beautiful in the world, and I love yelling buona nuota, actually more like wheezing out some gibberish that makes me sound like a 90 year old smoker-and getting a smile back. The dogs keep me going. Everyone here has a dog (or three) which they keep behind locked fences. As I run by they all bark at me as if I were a serial killer or dongnapper or something. They get so worked up. But really I think they are critiquing me, seeing when Im going too slow and yelling at me to “Go Faster, Go Faster”! So much pressure, but I swear, everytime I run past dogs, I pick up the pace just a little bit. I think I also pick up the pace as I look back on what Id eaten that day, enough carbs to feed a small village and enough wine to kill it. I have pasta three times a day here, and I love it :). So I hope all of your running is going better than mine (I guess none of you have to worry about crazy scooters mowing you down around every corner) and when you’re struggling to get out the door, just think of the dogs. They’re always watching. Haha I love you guys and I cant wait to see you! Work hard and have a fun summer!
Ps-little Italian trick: if you can’t get your hands on chocolate milk or Gatorade after a game or a hard run, just do as the romans do and chomp down on a spoon full of sugar. I promise, it actually works-an instant energy rush.
Much love,
Erin (Bella)
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Troppo Caldo
On Tuesday I journeyed to Rome for the second time, but this time I was on my own. I took the train from Fara Sabina where I watched the countryside race past my window, as picturesque as the paintings in Piazza Navona. I arrived at the statione Travestere with the sun high in the sky and I proceeded to stumble blindly through the outskirts of Rome, hoping with every street I took that I would find myself on my creased and torn paper map. Eventually, after two hours of walking beneath the scorching sun, I was a tiny dot on a street at the very edge of my map-o what a relief! While in the throes of confusion, aimlessly wandering, I stopped in a supermarket to once again marvel at the rows of wine and the different foods. After so much walking I was quite famished so I chose a healthy snack of fanta and chocolate...o and a bottle of citrusy Limoncello. Being lost eventually had its rewards as I came upon a hidden part of Rome that I otherwise would have missed. I walked through Piazzele Aurelio which is a gorgeous cobblestoned square high above the city where I sat on a ledge overlooking all of Rome.The view was incredible-tiny buildings and spiraled roofs and mountains as far as the eye could see. I continued walking on the Passeggiata del Gianicolo, a beautiful tree covered street with a small park where I sat and hid from the sun-curled up on a bench with a book. I made it to the Vatican where I ate a tomato and mozzarello panini and shopped along crowded streets. If you know where you are going, you can find shops that dont rob you of all the coins in your pocket. Since Italy is known for its leather, I gave in and bought myself a coat and a cute blue change purse. I then bought little things for friends and family and was forced by the hot sun to buy a creamy dish of gelato. Once I returned to the Vatican, my feet were struggling to find their way-weighted down by the extra pounds added on by my delicious indulgences. I was approached by a smiling man wearing a grossly neon yellow hat-clearly marking him as a tour guide and when he suggested a ride on the bus, I gladly accepted the chance to rest my aching body. We conversed until the bus departed and he was impressed that I was working on a farm and swore that I must be spanish. His female co-worker then took it upon herseld act as (Andreo's) wing woman and inform me that he was a very good man. Before I left on the bus, he made sure to tell me that I had the most beautiful smile and waved fervently as I rode away. The bus was a welcome reprieve from the tiring walk and I listened as a British recording droned on about every building and Piazza we passed-endless detail about the foundations of the ancient city. I was dropped off in Travestere and left to find my way back to the station. I somehow found the tram and managed to read the sign which listed Stazione Travestere as one of its stops. The only problem is that the stops are not clearly marked so I ended up riding the tram to the last stop-and I was back where I started (far from my destination). Going solo to a foreign country is an important experience in my opinion because it forces you to rely on people, to talk to them and leave your pride behind and admit that you cant do everything on your own. After asking for help I somehow managed to find my way back to the station where I boarded the train home with the help of a delightfully adorable old man. He was all smiles and more than happy to help me find the right train (even though he didnt speak a lick of english). But with every good person you meet, you always meet a bad when. Alas, on the train, so crowded I was touching someone different on all sides, I was face to face with a rather creepy man who wouldnt stop staring at me, even when I stared right back. Dont you just hate that?
At home, Sandro and I drank Limoncello and many cups of wine while exchanging our favorite songs and laughing at our difficulty with conversation. Yesterday I continued to work in the field, picking the weeds which infringed upon the zucchinis and onions sun and water. Sandro joined me and whisked a chair from the vegetables, as if willing it into existence. We sat in the middle of the field, day turning to dusk, rolling cigarettes with flower stem filters. I couldnt help but laught at the beauty of the situation. We sat in silence breathing in the country air, the waning summer heat and the forbidden chemicals (which I rarely, rarely smoke mother). For lunch we stopped at a small terraced resturaunt where we ate spahghetti marina and a tradtitional Roman dish (chicken with roasted peppers)...very delicious! In Italy, contrary to our belief, no one uses spoons to twirl their sphaghetti and I was I succumbed to habit, Sandro warned me that the spoon would surely invite war to our table.
For dinner we feasted on a ricotta pasta with goat cheese and herbs, fresh bread and wine, and like most nights we drank more than was necessary for our balance, but just the right amount to sate our thirst. At almost every meal I am full halfway through my plate but I am incapable of stopping because wasting food this good is surely a sin. The red wine was candy to my lips and it glowed like liquid fire in the moonlight. We ate under the stars and the inky black sky. After dinner, Sandro, Matteo and I drank Limoncello and vinegary wine while Matteo gave me a foot massage.
Today in the afternoon, the five of us went to the creek high up in the mountains where we refreshed ourselves in the ice cold water. It was beautiful-more like a jungle or the everglades than the Italian countryside. Lino and Massimo swam butt naked and cruised around in a blow up boat. I swam in the water and was then given on a ride on the boat, pulled by Matteo against the lazy current. No one wears sunblock here so my skin is slowly turning a golden brown from the relentless sun-disguising me as a local Italian.
For breakfast we went to the bar where I ate a croissant that tasted faintly of lemons and drank cafe con latte. For lunch I was treated to a delicious pesce dish-spahgetti with lots of oil and garlic and clams and mussels on the side which tasted of the sea. Words to the wise-do not come to Italy if you have an adversion to pasta, oil or wine. You have been warned.
Arrivederci,
Bella
Ps-Italians really do use their hands for everything. To signal eating, good food, anger, love...anything that can be described with words is accompanied by hand gestures.
At home, Sandro and I drank Limoncello and many cups of wine while exchanging our favorite songs and laughing at our difficulty with conversation. Yesterday I continued to work in the field, picking the weeds which infringed upon the zucchinis and onions sun and water. Sandro joined me and whisked a chair from the vegetables, as if willing it into existence. We sat in the middle of the field, day turning to dusk, rolling cigarettes with flower stem filters. I couldnt help but laught at the beauty of the situation. We sat in silence breathing in the country air, the waning summer heat and the forbidden chemicals (which I rarely, rarely smoke mother). For lunch we stopped at a small terraced resturaunt where we ate spahghetti marina and a tradtitional Roman dish (chicken with roasted peppers)...very delicious! In Italy, contrary to our belief, no one uses spoons to twirl their sphaghetti and I was I succumbed to habit, Sandro warned me that the spoon would surely invite war to our table.
For dinner we feasted on a ricotta pasta with goat cheese and herbs, fresh bread and wine, and like most nights we drank more than was necessary for our balance, but just the right amount to sate our thirst. At almost every meal I am full halfway through my plate but I am incapable of stopping because wasting food this good is surely a sin. The red wine was candy to my lips and it glowed like liquid fire in the moonlight. We ate under the stars and the inky black sky. After dinner, Sandro, Matteo and I drank Limoncello and vinegary wine while Matteo gave me a foot massage.
Today in the afternoon, the five of us went to the creek high up in the mountains where we refreshed ourselves in the ice cold water. It was beautiful-more like a jungle or the everglades than the Italian countryside. Lino and Massimo swam butt naked and cruised around in a blow up boat. I swam in the water and was then given on a ride on the boat, pulled by Matteo against the lazy current. No one wears sunblock here so my skin is slowly turning a golden brown from the relentless sun-disguising me as a local Italian.
For breakfast we went to the bar where I ate a croissant that tasted faintly of lemons and drank cafe con latte. For lunch I was treated to a delicious pesce dish-spahgetti with lots of oil and garlic and clams and mussels on the side which tasted of the sea. Words to the wise-do not come to Italy if you have an adversion to pasta, oil or wine. You have been warned.
Arrivederci,
Bella
Ps-Italians really do use their hands for everything. To signal eating, good food, anger, love...anything that can be described with words is accompanied by hand gestures.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
Who wants Food?
Hello everyone! I hope you all read this before tomorrow morning! I am going into Rome tomorrow and I was wondering if anyone wanted anything specific and then I can just let you know the cost after. Ann-I will look for the Neroli oil, I am sure I will be able to find it but Sandro has never heard of it. I am going to wait on the wine until I go to another part of Italy because Rome is not known for its wine. I am working on setting up another stay on a farm right now so I will keep you updated. As for the olive oil, I will ask Sandro tonight what the price will be and I will ship as many bottles as possible. Also, is anyone interested in a bottle of ginziana (the liquor made in Abruzzi). I cant promise I will be able to find it around Rome but I am going to search.
Love,
Bella
Love,
Bella
Uno Fuoco
Saturday night me, Sandro and the boys set up fresh produce at a local festival nearby. The streets were lined with tents selling everything from roasted corn on the cob to light up bracelets. A stage had been set up on which a band played traditional Italian music which sounded unfortunately like polka gibberish. Old couples floated across the dance floor, dresses flowing in the cool breeze. Everywhere were the sounds of laughter and singing, children running in the streets and people sipping limoncello. I walked around with the boys which was interesting because people assumed that they were my sons and one very kind vendor let "my boys" ride on her slide for free. We ate suasage paninis and drank amber beers as we sat on the sidewalk watching people waste money on toy dogs and cotton candy. The man set up next to our tent had the most beautifully painted pottery so I couldnt help but buy my mother something (which she will be getting in the mail shortly). The man even gave me a discount because he said I could keep a secret since I couldnt tell anyone in Italian the deal he had given me.
Yesterday was a quiet day-a Sunday and in the afternoon when the sun was too hot to bear, Sandro and I sat in the kitchen drinking red wine while the children slept. It is amazing the depth of the conversations we have even with our language impairments. We talk about family, a corrupted state, the institution of marriage and life in general. He is easy to talk to and I cherish the words we exchange over biscotti dipped in plum and cherry wines. Last night before dark put all to sleep, I noticed smoke rising from the mountains. As happens every year according to Sandro, there was a wild fire although this one was worse than usual. For hours and continuing in the morning, the constant thrum of helicopters was heard up above. We piled into the tractor and drove down to the pond where that helicopters were continuously replenishing their buckets of water. The beautiful fire lit up the distant mountains-a line of red and orange dancing against the night sky. Sometimes those things most dangerous are also those most beautiful because we find solace in things we cannot control.
Molto Amore,
Bella
Yesterday was a quiet day-a Sunday and in the afternoon when the sun was too hot to bear, Sandro and I sat in the kitchen drinking red wine while the children slept. It is amazing the depth of the conversations we have even with our language impairments. We talk about family, a corrupted state, the institution of marriage and life in general. He is easy to talk to and I cherish the words we exchange over biscotti dipped in plum and cherry wines. Last night before dark put all to sleep, I noticed smoke rising from the mountains. As happens every year according to Sandro, there was a wild fire although this one was worse than usual. For hours and continuing in the morning, the constant thrum of helicopters was heard up above. We piled into the tractor and drove down to the pond where that helicopters were continuously replenishing their buckets of water. The beautiful fire lit up the distant mountains-a line of red and orange dancing against the night sky. Sometimes those things most dangerous are also those most beautiful because we find solace in things we cannot control.
Molto Amore,
Bella
Roma
It is amazing how fast I am becoming comfortable with Sandro and his sons and Matteo. While it is definitely part of the culture, already I feel comfortable giving and receiving hugs and kisses before bed and in the morning and Massimo and Lino are constantly subjected to a shower of kisses from me (which they shyly return). Lino loves to give me flowers which I wear in my hair and Massimo loves to give me hugs.
Now finally what you have all been waiting for-Rome. Rome was much like any city I have been to any yet very different at the same time. THe streets were filled with people walking along cobbletoned sidewalks and dodging in and out of speeding cars and scooters. Every third person had a map, so as expected there were plenty of fellow tourists in the city. I was dropped at the Vatican-St. Peter's Basillica, where I witnessed the jawdropping beauty of the enormous buildings and flowing fountains. From there I walked down side streets where stone buildings of yellow, white and brown rose high above the street with viny plants and flowers hanging from square windows. Old women hung out windows throwing laundry on the lines and watching passerby down below. I mainly stuck to bust streets where I wouldnt run into trouble and the first street I chose was a large one with many shops and cafes. I mosty window shopped and watched the people moving and shouting in every direction. There are many places to sit and relax in Rome so I alternated between stone benches in the piazzas, green wire benches along the streets and under trees near the ancient ruins. I never strayed far from Via Della Conciliazone, a main street that runs through the center of Rome, but I did make sure to hit every major spot in Rome. In the morning I walked to Piazza Navona-a beatiful square surrounded by resturaunts and cafes and encasing a gorgeous stone fountain where I washed the sweat from the back of my neck. I sat on a shady bench sheilding my skin from the near 100 heat and ate chocolate gelato while watching the people mill though the art vendors. Gelato is truly something else. It is so creamy and rich and it was piled high upon my cone. I watched the people in the square as I attempted to eat my gelato faster than it could drip into my hands. The art being sold in the square was absolutely beautiful! There were so many paintings and I regret not buying a larger picture. Next time I am in Rome I will have to buy one, or two, or three :) I then ventured to an open market where big tents as white as the clouds above housed fresh fruit and vegetables, jewelry and clothes. I bought a fresh box of rasberries which I ate while walking through the market and talking to the young vendor who told me of his love for "One Tree Hill" and even showed me the tattoo of one of the characters on his ribs. He also told me that he works the market 6 days a week, 10 hours a day-maybe Ill have to go visit him with fresh figs next time. I stopped in a grocery store just to look at the different foods they sell and I ended up buying a bottle of wine and a delicious lemon drink. I then walked to various ancient ruins, it seems as if there is an ancient building around every corner! The most notable site was the Pantheon which was surrounded by another beautiful square containing yet another large fountain. Tourists milled around the piazza taking pictures and staring in awe. Next to the piazza was an enormous church which was open to the public. The frescoes and stained glass windows shone with light, illuminating the figures of saints and Jesus Christ. There was a service being held so I went and stood in a pew and pretended to understand the words the preist was saying. It was not until I saw a woman crying that I realized I had encroached upon a funeral mass. I felt awful for intruding on something so private. I walked to the Colloseum under the beating sun and marveled at the size and the knowledge that hundreds of years before the gladiators (like Maximus Aurelius) had walked this same street. For the rest of the day I walked along the streets, occassionaly going into stores and buying drinks. At the end of the day I stopped for a late lunch at a streetside resturaunt. I felt a little weird eating by myself but my discomfort soon evaporated when I was served my food. I orderered red wine and for antipasto-proscuitto e ovaline. Then for my main course I feasted on fettucine goronzola, unbelievably delicious! The cream sauce was as bad for me as it was tasty. As I couldnt finish my pasta, I sadly declined dessert, reminiscent of the cookies the night before. Around 7pm Sandro picked me up at the same spot he dropped me and I was joined by his sons Massimo and Lino who were once again lulled to sleep by the bumpy road home.
Now finally what you have all been waiting for-Rome. Rome was much like any city I have been to any yet very different at the same time. THe streets were filled with people walking along cobbletoned sidewalks and dodging in and out of speeding cars and scooters. Every third person had a map, so as expected there were plenty of fellow tourists in the city. I was dropped at the Vatican-St. Peter's Basillica, where I witnessed the jawdropping beauty of the enormous buildings and flowing fountains. From there I walked down side streets where stone buildings of yellow, white and brown rose high above the street with viny plants and flowers hanging from square windows. Old women hung out windows throwing laundry on the lines and watching passerby down below. I mainly stuck to bust streets where I wouldnt run into trouble and the first street I chose was a large one with many shops and cafes. I mosty window shopped and watched the people moving and shouting in every direction. There are many places to sit and relax in Rome so I alternated between stone benches in the piazzas, green wire benches along the streets and under trees near the ancient ruins. I never strayed far from Via Della Conciliazone, a main street that runs through the center of Rome, but I did make sure to hit every major spot in Rome. In the morning I walked to Piazza Navona-a beatiful square surrounded by resturaunts and cafes and encasing a gorgeous stone fountain where I washed the sweat from the back of my neck. I sat on a shady bench sheilding my skin from the near 100 heat and ate chocolate gelato while watching the people mill though the art vendors. Gelato is truly something else. It is so creamy and rich and it was piled high upon my cone. I watched the people in the square as I attempted to eat my gelato faster than it could drip into my hands. The art being sold in the square was absolutely beautiful! There were so many paintings and I regret not buying a larger picture. Next time I am in Rome I will have to buy one, or two, or three :) I then ventured to an open market where big tents as white as the clouds above housed fresh fruit and vegetables, jewelry and clothes. I bought a fresh box of rasberries which I ate while walking through the market and talking to the young vendor who told me of his love for "One Tree Hill" and even showed me the tattoo of one of the characters on his ribs. He also told me that he works the market 6 days a week, 10 hours a day-maybe Ill have to go visit him with fresh figs next time. I stopped in a grocery store just to look at the different foods they sell and I ended up buying a bottle of wine and a delicious lemon drink. I then walked to various ancient ruins, it seems as if there is an ancient building around every corner! The most notable site was the Pantheon which was surrounded by another beautiful square containing yet another large fountain. Tourists milled around the piazza taking pictures and staring in awe. Next to the piazza was an enormous church which was open to the public. The frescoes and stained glass windows shone with light, illuminating the figures of saints and Jesus Christ. There was a service being held so I went and stood in a pew and pretended to understand the words the preist was saying. It was not until I saw a woman crying that I realized I had encroached upon a funeral mass. I felt awful for intruding on something so private. I walked to the Colloseum under the beating sun and marveled at the size and the knowledge that hundreds of years before the gladiators (like Maximus Aurelius) had walked this same street. For the rest of the day I walked along the streets, occassionaly going into stores and buying drinks. At the end of the day I stopped for a late lunch at a streetside resturaunt. I felt a little weird eating by myself but my discomfort soon evaporated when I was served my food. I orderered red wine and for antipasto-proscuitto e ovaline. Then for my main course I feasted on fettucine goronzola, unbelievably delicious! The cream sauce was as bad for me as it was tasty. As I couldnt finish my pasta, I sadly declined dessert, reminiscent of the cookies the night before. Around 7pm Sandro picked me up at the same spot he dropped me and I was joined by his sons Massimo and Lino who were once again lulled to sleep by the bumpy road home.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Roma e la campagnia
If you ever come to Italy please consider wwoofing. It is the best way to see Italy with all clothes shed, curtains open. You meet real italian people, not waiters and shopkeepers of the cities who simply cater to the needs and wants of tourists. You eat real food made from fresh produce and traditions that have been passed down from mother to daughter, father to son. Yes, you work the land and maybe even wash dishes and there are no 5 star hotels with goose feather beds, but you get to experience the complete silence of a country night and the big yellow sun rising from behind rolling green hills and white stone houses.
Italians are not afraid of imperfection. At least in the country there is no suffocating desire for toys and gadgets and cars that only money can buy. Instead their lives are focused on people. It is amazing to see such a beautiful community where everyone knows their neighbors and everyone strikes up friendly conversations with strangers they meet in passing. Everything (well almost) I wish for in life, I have found in Italy (or at least in Canneto Sabino). There is peace and quiet, an appreciation for the land, a sense of community, an acceptance for the simple things and finally the ever delicious fresh food and wine. Although not all, many Americans have long forgotten these things and we biuld walls around ourselves and our homes so that if need be, we could go years without ever having to talk to anybody.
We strive for perfection and consistency and yet there is beauty in variety-in the tomatoes which all have a different size, shape and number of holes from the little white worms. They don't use herbicides or pesticides here and that is how they prefer it. I asked Matteo how it all works, how their vegetables don't get eathen by insects, and he informed me that they do indeed get eaten by bugs. But they don't worry because it is all natural and natural is molto bella. Soil never hurt anyone as we eat unwashed lettuce from the garden, a fly or two alight the bread is no worry because since when did anyone die from a fly? Life is good because stress is something we make for ourselves and the Italians refuse to let any such thing into their stone houses and aromatic kitchens, prefering to simply take whatever life gives them.
Sandro and Matteo are beautiful people. Matteo has the kindest eyes I have ever seen and a patience that never wanes when I ask him time and again "what is this?" and "how do you say that?". If it weren't for his girlfriend I think I would be in love with him becuase sometimes just by looking a person in the eye you can tell that they are a good person. He is a good soul through and through and those men are hard to come by.
Sandro finds hilarity in everything. He is always happy and laughs often. He laughs at my constant writing, at his energetic sons and his friend who is going crazy with old age. He is a wonderful father and he loves learning english words and singing with me. He also informed me tonight that if we went to drink at the local bars, we risk him getting in some fights because he is afraid some guys will be rude and hit on me. I have a lot more to write but I'm gonna go to sleep so Ill finish tomorrow!
Italians are not afraid of imperfection. At least in the country there is no suffocating desire for toys and gadgets and cars that only money can buy. Instead their lives are focused on people. It is amazing to see such a beautiful community where everyone knows their neighbors and everyone strikes up friendly conversations with strangers they meet in passing. Everything (well almost) I wish for in life, I have found in Italy (or at least in Canneto Sabino). There is peace and quiet, an appreciation for the land, a sense of community, an acceptance for the simple things and finally the ever delicious fresh food and wine. Although not all, many Americans have long forgotten these things and we biuld walls around ourselves and our homes so that if need be, we could go years without ever having to talk to anybody.
We strive for perfection and consistency and yet there is beauty in variety-in the tomatoes which all have a different size, shape and number of holes from the little white worms. They don't use herbicides or pesticides here and that is how they prefer it. I asked Matteo how it all works, how their vegetables don't get eathen by insects, and he informed me that they do indeed get eaten by bugs. But they don't worry because it is all natural and natural is molto bella. Soil never hurt anyone as we eat unwashed lettuce from the garden, a fly or two alight the bread is no worry because since when did anyone die from a fly? Life is good because stress is something we make for ourselves and the Italians refuse to let any such thing into their stone houses and aromatic kitchens, prefering to simply take whatever life gives them.
Sandro and Matteo are beautiful people. Matteo has the kindest eyes I have ever seen and a patience that never wanes when I ask him time and again "what is this?" and "how do you say that?". If it weren't for his girlfriend I think I would be in love with him becuase sometimes just by looking a person in the eye you can tell that they are a good person. He is a good soul through and through and those men are hard to come by.
Sandro finds hilarity in everything. He is always happy and laughs often. He laughs at my constant writing, at his energetic sons and his friend who is going crazy with old age. He is a wonderful father and he loves learning english words and singing with me. He also informed me tonight that if we went to drink at the local bars, we risk him getting in some fights because he is afraid some guys will be rude and hit on me. I have a lot more to write but I'm gonna go to sleep so Ill finish tomorrow!
Friday, July 9, 2010
I have fallen in love. Italia sei perfetto. The countryside is more beautiful than words can expain. The language is as sweet as the gelato which drips onto my hand as I sit in piazza navola watching the people bake cosi panne in the sun. The people are wonderful-loud and full of life. If I wasnt so far from home and my family, I would wish to stay here forever. Alas, life is never so easy.
On wednwsay night, Sandro and his friend Matrwo brought me to a family resturant in the next town over. The food (cibo), was absolutely incredible and I have never had more food at one sitting! We started with fresh baked bread and delicous red wine and then we were served the antipasto which consisted of olives, artichokes and prosciutto, and bufalo mozzorello. After that came the first course which is always sphaghetti and I ate fetucine con ragu-pasta in a red meat sauce. At this point I was quite full (sta gonfia) and I was surprised when I was told that the dinner had only just begun. The second course was the carne and I had the privelege to eat spiadini di pacora (sheep), agnello (baby sheep) and different kinds of sausage. And it never stopped coming. Abour five minutes later we were served the vegetables (verdure) which was potatoes and cicoria-a common weed that is cooked with plentiful salt, garlic and olive oil. Speaking of olive oil, it is unbelievable here...like nothing you have ever tasted. It is like magic, making everything that it touches delicious. Fara Sabina is known for their olive oil and anybody who is anybody in la campagnia has olive groves where thet make their own oil. After veggies we ate dessert which was an assortment of biscuite...one of which is meant to be dipped in vino rosso. During dessert we were served a very traditional liqour which is only found in Abruzzi and the surrounding areas-ginziana. Very potent but good in small sips. Matteo e Sandro thought it was very funny that I had so much trouble holding down the taste of liquor so they made me drink another when the waiter came back.
Sandro and Matteo (and most people around here) curse a lot so I am learning some very funny slang words. One of the most common is perche ma donna (basically-why my mother) and santa maria and another word that Matteo said I shouldnt write.
I know I shouldnt feel bad because Sandro is supposed to be feeding me, but I feel bad because he buys me so much cafe, and pizza and croissants. I dont feel too bad though because everything is so delicous! Today I ran for the first time through fields of olive trees, past barking dogs and through winding streets where you fear that at any moment a crazy scooterer could run you down with their terrible driving. The roads here about three times as narrow as those in America so it is quite exciting riding through towns. My favorite ride however is the tractor where I sit on one side dodging tree branches and Matteo or Sandro's tiny sons-Massimo e Lino-hold on on the other. The rode to Sandro's house is tiny and dirt with divets and rocks everywhere, making every ride exciting and interesting.
Yesterday we went into Rome because Sandro had to deliver some of his produce around the city. Rome was crazy but I loved every second of it and with the map as my Bible, I successly navigated the city from St. Peter's to the Collosseum. Tomorrow I will write all about my adventures in Rome because right now at midnite and three glasses of wine deep, I an quite tired! Buona Notte!
Bella
On wednwsay night, Sandro and his friend Matrwo brought me to a family resturant in the next town over. The food (cibo), was absolutely incredible and I have never had more food at one sitting! We started with fresh baked bread and delicous red wine and then we were served the antipasto which consisted of olives, artichokes and prosciutto, and bufalo mozzorello. After that came the first course which is always sphaghetti and I ate fetucine con ragu-pasta in a red meat sauce. At this point I was quite full (sta gonfia) and I was surprised when I was told that the dinner had only just begun. The second course was the carne and I had the privelege to eat spiadini di pacora (sheep), agnello (baby sheep) and different kinds of sausage. And it never stopped coming. Abour five minutes later we were served the vegetables (verdure) which was potatoes and cicoria-a common weed that is cooked with plentiful salt, garlic and olive oil. Speaking of olive oil, it is unbelievable here...like nothing you have ever tasted. It is like magic, making everything that it touches delicious. Fara Sabina is known for their olive oil and anybody who is anybody in la campagnia has olive groves where thet make their own oil. After veggies we ate dessert which was an assortment of biscuite...one of which is meant to be dipped in vino rosso. During dessert we were served a very traditional liqour which is only found in Abruzzi and the surrounding areas-ginziana. Very potent but good in small sips. Matteo e Sandro thought it was very funny that I had so much trouble holding down the taste of liquor so they made me drink another when the waiter came back.
Sandro and Matteo (and most people around here) curse a lot so I am learning some very funny slang words. One of the most common is perche ma donna (basically-why my mother) and santa maria and another word that Matteo said I shouldnt write.
I know I shouldnt feel bad because Sandro is supposed to be feeding me, but I feel bad because he buys me so much cafe, and pizza and croissants. I dont feel too bad though because everything is so delicous! Today I ran for the first time through fields of olive trees, past barking dogs and through winding streets where you fear that at any moment a crazy scooterer could run you down with their terrible driving. The roads here about three times as narrow as those in America so it is quite exciting riding through towns. My favorite ride however is the tractor where I sit on one side dodging tree branches and Matteo or Sandro's tiny sons-Massimo e Lino-hold on on the other. The rode to Sandro's house is tiny and dirt with divets and rocks everywhere, making every ride exciting and interesting.
Yesterday we went into Rome because Sandro had to deliver some of his produce around the city. Rome was crazy but I loved every second of it and with the map as my Bible, I successly navigated the city from St. Peter's to the Collosseum. Tomorrow I will write all about my adventures in Rome because right now at midnite and three glasses of wine deep, I an quite tired! Buona Notte!
Bella
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
The First Days (Part 3)
It is amazing how fast you get farmer's hands. I already have blisters lining my palms and cuts to match. The inside of my arms and my legs don a beautiful red rash from working with weeds all day. I'm a bit allergic to grass. But just like being dirty after a soccer game, or sweaty after a run, I like seeing the evidence of my work so I dont mind the minor itch or fleeting pain. The onions are hard to explain unless you have smelled fresh farm grown vegetables. When I fumble with my clumsy hands and uproot an onion instead of a weed, the sweetest smell hits my nose. It smells like candy yet better, and when I stole a bite it tasted just as good as it smelled. Fresh food really does taste better. Everything here is organic so Sandro uses no pesticides or hernbicides. The soil is full of spiders (I saw the largest spider I have ever yesterday...and no Mark, I didnt scream). So all Sandro has to worry about are the weeds, which I pick, and the chickens, which I chase away with a rake while screaming "shoo, shoo!" Last night Sandro taught me how to ride his scooter-best part of the day! It was easier than I thought and I rode around the farm squealing with laughter. I was like a little girl agan, learning to ride a bike, Sandro like my father standing at the end of the drive yelling encouragement (every third word of which I understood). Today I met Sandro's friend Matteo who speaks the best english of anyone I have met so far. He is a chef at an agritourism and he is by far the best cook I have seen...his frittata is unbelievable! (fresh eggs, olive oil, zucchini, sausage and cheese).
Its funny not understanding a language because I sit and listen while everyone talks and I just hope that no one thinks Im rude for sitting in silence. I wish so badly that I understood more italian-I would love to have a real conversation with someone.Yesterday Matteo and Sandro took me into town and Im realizing that without a basic knowledge of italian it will be hard to talk to the locals. Rome will be easier though-hopefully this weekend Sandro will show me the best way to get there.
Everyone here calls me something different. Sandro usually calls me "hey girl" or "A-reen!". Matteo calls me "baby" because he thinks 21 is so young compared to his 30 years. And Aurelio, the funniest, craziest old man I have ever met-the ripe age of 84-usually calls me Bella because he thinks I am so beautiful. Aurelio brought me a gift yesterday of fresh figs and some other fruit I dont know the name of-incredibly delicious! I showed Sandro pictures of my family and he refers to Mark as "animale" (I think thats how you spell it)-basically the beast. Although we figured out yesterday that he's an inch taller than Mark-he beasts you crapface. Today we went to another town to fill up the gas tank and we stopped to get some drinks. First I had cafe which is basically like super charged espresso with milk (very delicious) and I also had a croissant that tasted like lemons. Then I got a drink called cedrata-sort of like a fizzt lemon drink and it is incredibly delicious! On the way back we stopped for fresh pizza at a local bakery and again it was probably the best pizza I have ever had! It was drenched in olive oil and it was topped with tomato and it also had a fair amount of salt on it. I like the way the Italians eat-except for the indulgences today, we usually eat every 8 hours...which is how it should be. For the first time in a long time my stomach actually grumbles for food so it tastes better when I finally eat. But I never go hungry. The meals are big and filling and I always get my fill of wine.
Tonight Sandro and Matteo are going to outfit their military truck with whoofers and speakers and ride around town blasting music...should be interesting. And this weekend Matteo is going to have a bonfire at his house so Ill get to meet more people and struggle some more with conversation :)
Ciao for now,
Bella
Its funny not understanding a language because I sit and listen while everyone talks and I just hope that no one thinks Im rude for sitting in silence. I wish so badly that I understood more italian-I would love to have a real conversation with someone.Yesterday Matteo and Sandro took me into town and Im realizing that without a basic knowledge of italian it will be hard to talk to the locals. Rome will be easier though-hopefully this weekend Sandro will show me the best way to get there.
Everyone here calls me something different. Sandro usually calls me "hey girl" or "A-reen!". Matteo calls me "baby" because he thinks 21 is so young compared to his 30 years. And Aurelio, the funniest, craziest old man I have ever met-the ripe age of 84-usually calls me Bella because he thinks I am so beautiful. Aurelio brought me a gift yesterday of fresh figs and some other fruit I dont know the name of-incredibly delicious! I showed Sandro pictures of my family and he refers to Mark as "animale" (I think thats how you spell it)-basically the beast. Although we figured out yesterday that he's an inch taller than Mark-he beasts you crapface. Today we went to another town to fill up the gas tank and we stopped to get some drinks. First I had cafe which is basically like super charged espresso with milk (very delicious) and I also had a croissant that tasted like lemons. Then I got a drink called cedrata-sort of like a fizzt lemon drink and it is incredibly delicious! On the way back we stopped for fresh pizza at a local bakery and again it was probably the best pizza I have ever had! It was drenched in olive oil and it was topped with tomato and it also had a fair amount of salt on it. I like the way the Italians eat-except for the indulgences today, we usually eat every 8 hours...which is how it should be. For the first time in a long time my stomach actually grumbles for food so it tastes better when I finally eat. But I never go hungry. The meals are big and filling and I always get my fill of wine.
Tonight Sandro and Matteo are going to outfit their military truck with whoofers and speakers and ride around town blasting music...should be interesting. And this weekend Matteo is going to have a bonfire at his house so Ill get to meet more people and struggle some more with conversation :)
Ciao for now,
Bella
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
The First Days (Part 2)
Last night Sandro made sphaghetti carbonara which I could tell he was quite proud of because he told me to tell my mom and brothers that he was making that for dinner. And I have to admit, he should be proud because it was the best, and probablt the fattiest sphaghetti carbonara I have ever had. Sorry Skidmore. The eggs came right from the chicken coop, the plentiful olive oil from his olive grove and the bacon was incredibly savory. Sandro likes to make fun of me because I always say I am very hungry and yet I can never finish what he puts on my plate. Last night he wanted me to eat sausage and salad too but I simply could not fit it in my belly! Dinner is always accompanied by wine and he prefers an enormous jug of white wine from puglia that only costs 1E! Incredble!
sunday was my first day on the farm and it turned out to be a very long day because of the traveling and my inability to sleep on anything that does not allows me to be horizontally renclined. So I got to Logan at 3pm Saturday, boarded British Air at 6pm and arrived in London at 12am (Boston time), 5am (London time). British Air was fantastic (Im easily impressed). They offered free wine with dinner...who would ever deny that! The dinner was also surprisingly delicious (chicken and rice), although when traveling I don't have much of an appetite because Im so focused on where I am going. I sat next to a very nice woman who said she was born in N. Africa, grew up in France and now lives in Woburn, MA (what an adventurous life). The plane had a huge list of movies to watch, much to my approval since I cant sleep on planes :) I arrived in Rome at 4.30am (Boston time), 10.30am (Rome time). On the flight from London to Rome I met a guy who is doing a graduate program in Rome and depending on when I can get into Rome, I might be able to see him again and the people that are on his program. It will be nice to have some american comrades in a city where no one knows what I am saying! I definitely have a newfound respect for foreign tourists and immigrants, It is incredibly scary being in a place where it is so difficult to ask a question and get your point across. Once I got to Rome I had to cat around my enormous suitcase, small duffel bag and hiking backpack. Im realizing that I packed enough clothing for a lifetime! I think I could wear a dirty outfit everyday for six weeks and I stil wouldnt have to do laundry! One word of advice for fellow travelers-pack lightly! Im pretty sure I was laughed at by just about every person I talked to. I looked like quite a fool, not to mention my arms felt like they were going to fall off! I switched the arm that was pulling my "life in a box" about every twenty seconds or so because the burn was constantly coursing from bicep to forearm. More time pumping iron would have done me well. After about ten changes of direction, I finally found the train station and made it onto the train headed to Fara Sabina. Little did I know that my train ticket involved a transfer at a station unbeknownst to me. Awesome. I was sitting in my seat when I heard the conductor speaking fervently about Fara Sabina. It sounded something like "gsgsfirfnkndkf, Fara Sabina, fhurgbkanshr, Fara Sabina, fheihfrfn". Somehow I managed to take from all the choas that I needed to get off at the next stop and transfer to the train on platform 1. With my heart in my throat, confuded as shit, I raced around asking people where platform 1 was, and incredibly speaking mostly english, random itlalian words inserted here and there and using lots of hand gestures, I managed to make it to the platform only to realize that I had already missed my train. Damn. It is possible that I have never been so nervous in my life...although it was a different kind of nervous. The kind where you know that there is no one coming to your rescue and no on to make sure you are ok. Its quite a strange feeling after living at home for 18 years and then at a very cozy, safe school. Let me tell you all, traveling solo is not for the faint of heart. Luckily, I am not faint of heart. So there I was, frantic yet trying to stay calm, 50 lb. suitcase in tow and sleepless since the morning before. I dont remember whether I asked him for help or he just noticed my obvious distress and offered his help, but regardless a man named Roberto literally came to my rescue. He helped me carry my bags back down the stairs, purchase a ticket to the right place, and he even taught me useful phrases such as "mi dispace, io non capiro italiano. Io parla inglesee". I dont know if it was out of pity or sheer friendliness but he bought me a water, thank God since it was at least 95 degrees out. I literally sweat through my entire shirt! Roberto got me on the train, and with the help of two other passengers, Sandro was called via cellphone and I was shown where to get off. I was picked up in a bright blue van (I know, sounds pretty sketch) and I was taken "home" by Sandro and his two adorable sons Massimo (3) and Lino (5). In order to all fit, Massimo sat on my lap where he promptly fell asleep and Lino leaned against my shoulder where he too fell asleep for the ride home. I cant describe how beautiful the scenery was as I rode to the farm, but I guess the best way to describe it is in italian: Molto Bella. We rode down a steep country rode , so steep that I thought at any minute me and Massimo would go flying out the window! Endless fields and mountains and stone houses as far as the eye could see and layer upon layer of green. Sandro was very excited when I managed to tell him that my mother's family is from Abruzzi (the best region in his opinion). Sandro lives in a small stone house with wooden latch doors and wind chimes made out of the seashells that are found in his soil. My room is at the front of the house and it locks with an ancient key, whicH I wish I could keep. His dog, sly, lovingly known as ceecho, loves to sleep under the bed where it is nice and cool, and in the morning he comes wobbling to my feet, his entire body quivering with excitement. This morning after breakfast I donned my shades (unnecessary for the early sun, but quite necessary for the stupid, eye obsesses bugs=. I was followed to the onion patch by the feisty black cat who made it impossible to work as it nipped at my hands and jumped into my lap every time I kelt down to pull some weeks. I stupidly put the hoe I use to pull weeds, in the shade the night before. I found the shed locked upon morning chores. Wonderful. So, I pulled the weeds by hand and promptly cut my finger on a stupid prickly weed. Ok, so once again I am not done writing, but I simply do not have it in me to stay up and write any longer! Ill keep writing tomorrow :)
sunday was my first day on the farm and it turned out to be a very long day because of the traveling and my inability to sleep on anything that does not allows me to be horizontally renclined. So I got to Logan at 3pm Saturday, boarded British Air at 6pm and arrived in London at 12am (Boston time), 5am (London time). British Air was fantastic (Im easily impressed). They offered free wine with dinner...who would ever deny that! The dinner was also surprisingly delicious (chicken and rice), although when traveling I don't have much of an appetite because Im so focused on where I am going. I sat next to a very nice woman who said she was born in N. Africa, grew up in France and now lives in Woburn, MA (what an adventurous life). The plane had a huge list of movies to watch, much to my approval since I cant sleep on planes :) I arrived in Rome at 4.30am (Boston time), 10.30am (Rome time). On the flight from London to Rome I met a guy who is doing a graduate program in Rome and depending on when I can get into Rome, I might be able to see him again and the people that are on his program. It will be nice to have some american comrades in a city where no one knows what I am saying! I definitely have a newfound respect for foreign tourists and immigrants, It is incredibly scary being in a place where it is so difficult to ask a question and get your point across. Once I got to Rome I had to cat around my enormous suitcase, small duffel bag and hiking backpack. Im realizing that I packed enough clothing for a lifetime! I think I could wear a dirty outfit everyday for six weeks and I stil wouldnt have to do laundry! One word of advice for fellow travelers-pack lightly! Im pretty sure I was laughed at by just about every person I talked to. I looked like quite a fool, not to mention my arms felt like they were going to fall off! I switched the arm that was pulling my "life in a box" about every twenty seconds or so because the burn was constantly coursing from bicep to forearm. More time pumping iron would have done me well. After about ten changes of direction, I finally found the train station and made it onto the train headed to Fara Sabina. Little did I know that my train ticket involved a transfer at a station unbeknownst to me. Awesome. I was sitting in my seat when I heard the conductor speaking fervently about Fara Sabina. It sounded something like "gsgsfirfnkndkf, Fara Sabina, fhurgbkanshr, Fara Sabina, fheihfrfn". Somehow I managed to take from all the choas that I needed to get off at the next stop and transfer to the train on platform 1. With my heart in my throat, confuded as shit, I raced around asking people where platform 1 was, and incredibly speaking mostly english, random itlalian words inserted here and there and using lots of hand gestures, I managed to make it to the platform only to realize that I had already missed my train. Damn. It is possible that I have never been so nervous in my life...although it was a different kind of nervous. The kind where you know that there is no one coming to your rescue and no on to make sure you are ok. Its quite a strange feeling after living at home for 18 years and then at a very cozy, safe school. Let me tell you all, traveling solo is not for the faint of heart. Luckily, I am not faint of heart. So there I was, frantic yet trying to stay calm, 50 lb. suitcase in tow and sleepless since the morning before. I dont remember whether I asked him for help or he just noticed my obvious distress and offered his help, but regardless a man named Roberto literally came to my rescue. He helped me carry my bags back down the stairs, purchase a ticket to the right place, and he even taught me useful phrases such as "mi dispace, io non capiro italiano. Io parla inglesee". I dont know if it was out of pity or sheer friendliness but he bought me a water, thank God since it was at least 95 degrees out. I literally sweat through my entire shirt! Roberto got me on the train, and with the help of two other passengers, Sandro was called via cellphone and I was shown where to get off. I was picked up in a bright blue van (I know, sounds pretty sketch) and I was taken "home" by Sandro and his two adorable sons Massimo (3) and Lino (5). In order to all fit, Massimo sat on my lap where he promptly fell asleep and Lino leaned against my shoulder where he too fell asleep for the ride home. I cant describe how beautiful the scenery was as I rode to the farm, but I guess the best way to describe it is in italian: Molto Bella. We rode down a steep country rode , so steep that I thought at any minute me and Massimo would go flying out the window! Endless fields and mountains and stone houses as far as the eye could see and layer upon layer of green. Sandro was very excited when I managed to tell him that my mother's family is from Abruzzi (the best region in his opinion). Sandro lives in a small stone house with wooden latch doors and wind chimes made out of the seashells that are found in his soil. My room is at the front of the house and it locks with an ancient key, whicH I wish I could keep. His dog, sly, lovingly known as ceecho, loves to sleep under the bed where it is nice and cool, and in the morning he comes wobbling to my feet, his entire body quivering with excitement. This morning after breakfast I donned my shades (unnecessary for the early sun, but quite necessary for the stupid, eye obsesses bugs=. I was followed to the onion patch by the feisty black cat who made it impossible to work as it nipped at my hands and jumped into my lap every time I kelt down to pull some weeks. I stupidly put the hoe I use to pull weeds, in the shade the night before. I found the shed locked upon morning chores. Wonderful. So, I pulled the weeds by hand and promptly cut my finger on a stupid prickly weed. Ok, so once again I am not done writing, but I simply do not have it in me to stay up and write any longer! Ill keep writing tomorrow :)
the first days
My hands are eternally dirty. No matter how many times I wash my hands, no matter how hard I scrub, my hands are always dirt stained and mud hides indignantly under my nails. My feet are turning brown from both sun and dirt and I love it. I love the feel of soil between my toes, cats nipping at my legs and even spiders crawling stoically across my fingers.
I wake with the sun, light streaming through my window and dogs barking at the restless chickens. It is a simple life, a life close to the Earth where there is little distinction between nature and man. It is peaceful sitting in the yard, hot breeze playing against my cheek while I write with paper and pen. All I hear are birds chirping, tractors in the distance and the occasional hiss from the ducks when I get to close. I am surrounded on all sides by trees and there are fields upon fields of olive groves in every direction. Work starts early to avoid the heat of the day, so while you are all fast asleep, I am just finishing my morning chores. Today Sandro went to help a nearby farmer with his tractor so he left me an array of choices for breakfast. The table held a pot of hot milk, hot chocolate mix, a granola cereal, and strangely two types of cookies with nutella. So this morning I had quite an interesting breakfast. Sandro is a very modest man as I expect most farmers are, and he wastes nothing. Any food that I cannot finish, he finishes. He calls himself "the trash". And on the rare occasion that he is too full, les gatti e le cane get a tasty treat. My first night on the farm we had cow's liver for dinner with lettuce from the garden and a mixture of the world's finest olive oil (the sabine valley is known for its oil), vinegar and salt. Although liver sounds disgusting, it is actually quite good (although its appearance might claim otherwise). I have much, much more to write but I will finish later tonight because Sandro's friend Matteo is going to teach me to cook (he's a chef).
I wake with the sun, light streaming through my window and dogs barking at the restless chickens. It is a simple life, a life close to the Earth where there is little distinction between nature and man. It is peaceful sitting in the yard, hot breeze playing against my cheek while I write with paper and pen. All I hear are birds chirping, tractors in the distance and the occasional hiss from the ducks when I get to close. I am surrounded on all sides by trees and there are fields upon fields of olive groves in every direction. Work starts early to avoid the heat of the day, so while you are all fast asleep, I am just finishing my morning chores. Today Sandro went to help a nearby farmer with his tractor so he left me an array of choices for breakfast. The table held a pot of hot milk, hot chocolate mix, a granola cereal, and strangely two types of cookies with nutella. So this morning I had quite an interesting breakfast. Sandro is a very modest man as I expect most farmers are, and he wastes nothing. Any food that I cannot finish, he finishes. He calls himself "the trash". And on the rare occasion that he is too full, les gatti e le cane get a tasty treat. My first night on the farm we had cow's liver for dinner with lettuce from the garden and a mixture of the world's finest olive oil (the sabine valley is known for its oil), vinegar and salt. Although liver sounds disgusting, it is actually quite good (although its appearance might claim otherwise). I have much, much more to write but I will finish later tonight because Sandro's friend Matteo is going to teach me to cook (he's a chef).
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Finally here!
Well I'm on my way in just a few hours and it still feels very surreal. I can't believe that in 24 hours I will be landing in Rome and that I will be in Italy for the next 6 weeks...so strange! Lots to do today but I'll post as soon as possible when I get there :)
<3 Bella
<3 Bella
Friday, June 25, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
So much to do!
Buon Giorno!
So its a week and a half before I leave for Italy and Im working on getting everything ready for the trip. It still hasn't really hit me that I'll be in Rome in days...so weird. I'm a little nervous about the the language since I don't know any Italian and the guys on the farm only speak broken english, but Ive been doing Rosetta Stone 24/7. Learned some good words so far: 1. caffe-coffee (very important), cane-dog (almost as important) and puttana-bitch (expletives are always useful). Hope that's good enough to start off with! So I called today to confirm my flight and the stupid computer told me that my tickets were for LA! I cant imagine going to the airport and finding out that I was headed to LA...that would suck...especially after the NBA finals. So thankfully, Im all set to fly out on the 3rd and Ill be in Rome on Sunday morning :) I dont know what Im most excited for-meeting the people on the farm, drinking amazing wine all the time, or being in Italy during the world cup. I am a teeny bit nervous about traveling by myself-I love airports but there's just so much going on-pretty confusing. And everyone keeps telling me about the creepy italian men. haha I hope I blend in so I won't get harassed! Anyways keep reading for more updates...Ill start writing once I get to Italia!
viva bene, ami molto, risata spesso,
Bella
So its a week and a half before I leave for Italy and Im working on getting everything ready for the trip. It still hasn't really hit me that I'll be in Rome in days...so weird. I'm a little nervous about the the language since I don't know any Italian and the guys on the farm only speak broken english, but Ive been doing Rosetta Stone 24/7. Learned some good words so far: 1. caffe-coffee (very important), cane-dog (almost as important) and puttana-bitch (expletives are always useful). Hope that's good enough to start off with! So I called today to confirm my flight and the stupid computer told me that my tickets were for LA! I cant imagine going to the airport and finding out that I was headed to LA...that would suck...especially after the NBA finals. So thankfully, Im all set to fly out on the 3rd and Ill be in Rome on Sunday morning :) I dont know what Im most excited for-meeting the people on the farm, drinking amazing wine all the time, or being in Italy during the world cup. I am a teeny bit nervous about traveling by myself-I love airports but there's just so much going on-pretty confusing. And everyone keeps telling me about the creepy italian men. haha I hope I blend in so I won't get harassed! Anyways keep reading for more updates...Ill start writing once I get to Italia!
viva bene, ami molto, risata spesso,
Bella
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