International Living...

I found it!  The ethnic foods section in our HUGE supermarket (down in Ponte Rio, 3 miles from centro).  The supermarket is the size of a small Kroger, and contains clothes, a small hardware section, a school supplies aisle, a large deli section, and the normal accoutrements of a grocery store as you'd expect (except for having eggs on the shelf instead of in the refrigerator section).

What you can't find (or at least I couldn't, until today) is anything other than Italian foodstuffs.  Or at least foodstuffs compatible with Italian cooking.

In the corner waaaaay to the back of the store, I accidentally spotted it:

Our ethnic foods

Florence showing some of the rest of the store

That is a water/juice/drinks section

You can't get refried beans here, but you can get a 10-kg (that's 22 POUND) Easter egg.  And that's not a joke:


Love,

Alexandra

Vignettes

Some insights from our past week...

1. We had arranged with Nonno Enrico's wife to pick up a 3-liter tin of olive oil on Saturday (this was Friday).  However, Friday late afternoon we were down in the village and weren't sure whether we really had enough oil for our dinner.  I went over to Enrico's stand (the lights were on! Hurray!), and the lights went out...Luca was leaving.  I gave out a shout, and he gladly re-opened for me -- and upon seeing me said immediately that he hadn't got around to decanting my 3-liter tin, he was so sorry, but he'd have it ready tomorrow as promised.  Responding that it was fine, I just needed a small something to get by for dinner, he gave me a 250-ml (8.4-ounce) bottle.  Yes, you read the verb correctly... gave.  I love our community here.

2. Tricia asked the bishop to bless a rosary that James had given her.  He happily did so, saying that he'd bring us each one blessed by Pope Benedict to the following week's Mass.  When I was waiting to talk to Don Enrico after Mass the next week, the bishop saw me, came over, and said that he had our gifts.  Sure enough -- not just a rosary each, but a beautiful signed photo of our retiring pontiff.  Isn't that lovely?

3. Tricia couldn't resist a beautiful purse in one of our local shops, and was also eying a blouse.  In Italy, returning items isn't terribly common, and one must ask if it's possible.  Anyway, the lady said that Tricia could take it home & think about it...if she decided to purchase it, please bring just the tags back.  When she rang up Tricia's purchase, there was no charge on the blouse at all -- it was taken away on the honor system!

4. Leo saw me hefting the heaviest.cart.ever up the hill -- we were just at Consolazione -- and stopped to give us a lift.  Just because.  Speaking of whom, he called me from the airport as he was leaving for vacation in Argentina just to confirm Tricia's and Michael's travel arrangements so that Sandro would be there on time and in the right place.

5. I went to the garden store, and got some more plants.  The lovely lady (whose name I've forgotten...something Maria) put the pot, plants, and soil in the car.  We went to pay (after everything was loaded!), at which point she told me that I couldn't pay today because her cash register was on the fritz.  "Just come back in the next couple of days and we'll get you all set up," she said blithely.  I suggested that at least we should write down what I'd taken so we didn't forget something by mistake?

6. At the dentist: Ashley had a sore tooth and Florence was concerned about her tooth grinding.  I took them both in for an evaluation with a private dentist.  He saw us at 4, agreed with the night guard for Florence, and had a very specific recommendation for the type of guard based on her bite.  Rather than scheduling an appointment for the molds, etc. he went ahead and did it right there.  I remembered when I had mine done how much I wanted to gag...Florence, who has a much more sensitive palate, reported that it was completely fine and she had no trouble with it.

Moving into another room for Ashley (already cleaned), he wanted to do an x-ray to confirm his visual evaluation that everything was okay.  I did ask specifically if he could shield her neck (thyroid protection), and he assured me that that was fine.  The assistant showed up with a style of x-ray vest with a built-in neck guard.  Who would have expected that, given that we're in the middle of nowhere? I certainly wouldn't.  When the x-ray had been developed, he explained why her tooth was sensitive, described extremely clearly exactly what was going on with it, and answered all our questions very knowledgeably.

The time came to check out.  Rita, the assistant, set up the 2-week appointment to pick up Florence's guard.  She was ready for me to scram, and I had to cough hesitantly and ask how much I owed them.  Looking surprised, she signaled for me to wait for a minute.  After conferring with the dentist, she decided that we owed them 20 euros.

Alexandra

Cioccolatissimo!

Tricia and I had the opportunity of touring the Perugina plant last week.  Perugina has a very interesting history which tied together several bits and pieces of Italian culture.

At the turn of the century (possibly before), Signor Buitoni had a pasta shop.  In 1907 (that historic year!), he decided to add a few sweets to his offerings.  He made a rum-filled sweet called the "Rosanna" and a few others...which quickly took off!  Pretty soon, the sweets side of the business eclipsed the pasta portion.

Fairly early on, Buitoni partnered with a couple (the Spagnolis) to work on some of the marketing and to develop products.  They introduced chocolate to the mix, which became wildly popular.  One inspired day, Luisa Spagnoli (who in her own right was a clothing designer at the time -- more about that later) decided to use the leftover bits and pieces from the chocolate fabrication process, mash it up, and cover it with chocolate.  Makes me think of "refrigerator soup", you know?  All the dribs and drabs that get tossed in together & served?  Or "leftover casserole".  Made with chocolate, one would expect it to be a bit tastier, though.

And it was.  She called her creation "pugno" (I think) -- meaning in rather crude slang "punch" (as in a punch to the face).  After the others tasted this, it was time to rename it; with a bit of jujitsu they changed the violence to love, and the pugno became the "Baci" (meaning "kisses").

Overnight it was a huge success.  To the point that they had to build a new factory almost immediately. Now, our tour guide proudly pointed to a display where were shown the three icons of Italy: Vespas, Baci, and...Fiat 500s! (You knew I'd drag my car into it somehow, didn't you, since I hadn't gushed about it for a while?)

Tricia with our shopping bags

We had a wonderful time watching the Easter eggs in production.  They're such fragile items that an enormous number did not pass quality control and had to be melted down.  So interesting.

What would a trip to the chocolate factory be without a trip to the chocolate factory store?  A wasted morning, if you ask me.  So, loaded up with our annual provisions (including a particular chocolate that I haven't found elsewhere -- dark chocolate with red fruits -- really scrumptious, and I don't even LIKE dark chocolate!) and a sampling of the Rosanna (which everyone associates with their grandmother since that's what she would have in the candy bowl!), we went on our way.

Believe it or not, we were actually ready for some lunch (real food), and tried to find the restaurant recommended by our tour guide.  La Collina Verde was the trough specified, and we were told it was next to the hospital.  Negotiating Perugian traffic and traffic circles and all the excitement that entailed, we made it to the hospital.  Then what?  We circled around the parking lot, feeling a bit calmer now that we were out of traffic, and found niente.  No Collina, no verde.

As we were about to leave the parking lot none the fuller, we saw a sign: "La Collina" !!!! Could this be it?  As a confirmation the sign was -- you guessed it -- verde.  Unfortunately, that was all the confirmation we received: the place looked like a 1950s roadside motel from the states, including the putrid color, in this case a yellowish orangish beige.

Expecting Norman Bates around any corner, despite the architectural disconnect, we wandered into a deserted courtyard -- peering this way and that for any indication.  Aha! A sign for a trattoria!  As we turned to the right, a fellow in a penguin suit popped out from behind.  He told us he could fix us right up.  Thinking he was with the accommodations portion of the resort, we told him we were just looking for a salad or light meal.  No problem!  He could take care of everything.

You know how in the cartoons they pull performers off the stage using the crook of a walking stick?  Tricia and I felt vaguely as though we were being pulled INTO the restaurant with this technique.  Or maybe he was using a cattle prod.

Docile as lambs, we surveyed our fate: a sea of empty tables with beautiful damask tablecloths -- the works.  Oh my word, what had we got ourselves into?  Was this going to be a three-martini lunch with a three-martini price?

Directly facing me across the table was not my lovely companion, but a television.  That was on.  Ick.  So I asked kindly (given that we were the only ones there apart from a canoodling couple who had eyes only for each other) whether the TV could be turned off.  Absolutely not, I was told, but they would cheerfully move us to another table.  The waiter-cum-penguin escorted us to an alternate location, where I continued to have front-row seats for the so-called entertainment.

Seeing that that wouldn't do, he figuratively shrugged his shoulders, waddled us back over to the first table, and turned off the TV.

And he didn't like me.

Anyway, we looked at the menu.  First good sign: it was all in Italian (no menu turistico here!).  First bad sign: it had a ton of stuff that we didn't recognize.  I started inquiring about what exactly we would get -- no sheep's eyes or anything even more revolting, you know the precautions one always makes.  Thawing, our waiter went to inquire with the chef, because some words had two possible culinary meanings -- either cherry tomatoes or a type of cheese -- and came back quite cheerfully with the response.  Tricia asked for the fish platter, but expressed some concern about tentacles.  Not knowing the word for that part of marine anatomy, I had to use hand gestures, which caused some amusement, I'm sure.

Back he came, cheerfully now, bearing salad which he placed carefully on a table that was pulled up next to ours.  The most elaborate salad ceremony commenced.  We had a toss here, a toss there, a sprinkling of olive oil, a crank of salt from the large hand grinder...you get the idea.

Thereafter, we had a most convivial luncheon.  The food really was quite delicious, and Tricia's fish platter (sans tentacles, but avec shrimp heads) was a sight to behold.  At the end of the meal (about 3:30 or so) we had a look around the restaurant.  During the course of our salad tossing, shrimp dissection, and coffee stirring, the entire place had become packed.  We couldn't believe how many people were just now getting around to their lunch!

Time to move on.  Feeling like contented lionesses, we trundled off to my Italian icon and set our sights for the next whistle stop on our Perugian tour.  Having heard about Luisa Spagnoli, how could we resist going to her shop in downtown Perugia?

Ironic note: as we were circling around trying to find the shop, I was back on my old stomping ground of our Questura-hunting days!  However, that didn't help our locating the shop.  As I had pulled over to ask a bus driver (who compassionately told me that he was a stranger here himself) about her shop, Tricia mused, "What's Spagnoli?"  Not really listening or paying attention, I said I didn't know.

We reviewed the schematic provided by our Perugina tour guide one more time.  Hmm.  It did say to keep going this direction, so...even though it looked rather residential...we continued.  Under the bridge (with a smaller archway on the right for pedestrians -- very sweet), up the hill, and our faith ran out.  As I turned around, I nearly ran smack-dab into a sign reading, "Luisa Spagnoli" !!!!!!

We found our shop.  It was an outlet.  And the clothes were lovely...beautifully designed and tailored.  And not expensive given the materials and construction.  Tricia found a few items.  I wasn't really looking, but as she was checking out, I saw it: a cone of yarn!!!!!  Voice trembling with excitement, I inquired as to whether these were decorations or for sale.

Well satisfied, both Tricia and I left with our purchases (and our Luisa Spagnoli bags), and decided that it was time to head home.

Love,

Alexandra

p.s.  The pacchini turned out to be tomatoes, in this case.

La Conchiglia Hotel

I have completed the first leg of my trip to the outskirts of Washington, D.C. for my grandmother's 90th birthday. Since this is a personal trip I decided I didn't want to start it by leaving Todi at 5:30 in the morning by taxi. Instead, I took three trains and a (much shorter) taxi ride to get to Rome tonight, and I'll have a short ride to Fiumicino in the morning.

We found the hotel on a web search where my two criteria were "near the airport" and "inexpensive". It must be the off season, because for 40 Euros I am in a beachfront hotel that was once popular with movie stars (according to my driver) and has been brought up to modern standards within the last 5 years.

The decor in my room is thoroughly modern with rectangular shapes, simple colors, and interesting use of painted steel and glass.

For example, notice the doors to the closet on the right, below. They are steel, asymmetrical, and lit from within to emphasize the pattern of holes. That pattern is echoed in the desk in the background (below the flat-screen TV).




Do you see the cube hanging from the wall? That's the fridge.




The bed, with the glass shower wall to the right:




The bathroom also has high-design fixtures and layout. Sorry about the color. The light is actually very good, but my iPad doesn't do a good job of selecting the right tones.




They really did try to make it nice. A towel warmer, even.




There you see that teasing glass shower wall from the other side. This would be a nice room to share with your significant other. Well, except for one thing. This particular room opens onto the lobby:




But they do have other rooms.

Oh, and a nice restaurant, too. Nothing spectacular, just run of the mill delicious Italian food. Since it is right in the coast, 10 minutes from where the local fishing fleet lands, I opted for pasta with seafood. It was amazing. Fresh pasta (slightly unevenly cut spaghetti) and fresher seafood. The seafood included some tiny calamari served whole! Jeremy would have thought they were very cute.

Internet? Free.

Michael

A Day Out in Orvieto

Tricia and I spent the day in Orvieto yesterday, and what a day it was!  We toodled along the curvy road in my darling little macchinina, enjoying each other's company and sharing stories and sunshine.

When we arrived, we were in the mood for a cappuccino.  So off we set on our first mission.  Interestingly, all the bars appeared to have tucked their skirts in and fled...there was nary a one in sight. Churches, however, were thick on the ground -- clearly calling for a change of plan.

We wandered up one of the larger streets, finding lots of closed shops, clothes shops, and kitchen ware.  They were just tempting us.  We even found a bread shop, raising our hopes until they were dashed (to the accompaniment of an intoxicating perfume of fresh bread) by the lack of a coffee maker.

And then we got picky.  We needed coffee at a bar with a bathroom.  No longer would any likely-looking place do.  Finally, we found the place.  It was actually rather large, but had the added inducement of selling all types of artisan chocolates.  Meaning Michael would get a souvenir so he could remember the trip he didn't get to enjoy.

Whew!  That mission accomplished, it was time to go to the cathedral -- one of the two reasons we were there in the first place.  We arrived twenty minutes before the pausa and five minutes before my parking pass was due to expire (I know, poor planning on my part, but for some reason I'd misread the sign & didn't realize it until it was too late & I'd purchased the dratted thing).  We had time to mutter two "ohs" and one "aaah" and then had to dash to the parking lot.

Looking down into the well.  It's much further down than it looks!

Fortune smiled on us, since the other main goal of this trip was to see the pozzo.  The pozzo is a well dug in the 1500s as a water source for the city in the event of siege.  And from whence came the fear of siege, you ask?  Well, the pope of the time thought that it likely that the Roman forces would try to oust him & he'd have to take refuge.  Orvieto looked like a right good place to him, so he figured he'd prepare the city for his protection.  Since all it lacked was water, digging a well was the obvious thing to do.

The view from the bottom

Tricia on guard

And here's where the fun begins: it's actually a cylinder within a cylinder.  The well is in the center, and the space between the inside & outside cylinders is taken up by a staircase.  Boring, you say?  Well, think again: it's not just any old staircase with 280 steps.  It's actually a steeply inclining double helical staircase.  This meant that donkeys (with water jars) could go down one staircase and up the other, allowing them not to meet asses going the wrong direction.  Good plan, no?  It was actually fascinating how quickly we went as we chatted, not realizing how steep the descent actually was.  Holes carved in the walls provided light and regular access to see our progress.

Once we made it up and I extricated myself from the ratcheted exit door that had designs on my purse, we wandered happily around the park that was the remains of the local fortress.  Beautiful views and a lovely tranquil spot.  Back to get lunch at a local spot (delicious, by the way), and time to see the cathedral for real.

After much admiration, home to Todi!

Love,

Alexandra

A church & celebration dinner

Last Monday we were invited to celebrate the live Nativity in which we participated over Christmas.  We thought that a dinner was a lovely way to join together again and get to know our fellow Presepe members better.

It started with a local dish.  It's great unless you know what it is.  Unfortunately, I knew what it was: essentially pork 'n' beans, but with pig intestine instead of bacon or other yummy pork bits.  Really, the texture is a bit like softish calamari.  But after having had half a plate at the birthday party James attended in the fall, I couldn't do any more.

I bravely stirred mine around with some bread, and passed off the rest to my unknowing neighbor.  Tricia made the mistake of asking what it was, and I couldn't lie.  After having also enjoyed half a plate...she was done.  As we cased out what was going on elsewhere, we realized that some of the Italians were also picking out the "onions". That made us feel much better.

Then followed the veggies.  And the meat.  Our neighbors had been eying us, and we'd been similarly eying them.  Tricia broke the ice in one fell swoop by asking whether it was permissible to finish cleaning the yummy pork (rib) bones by picking them up.  One of the neighbors (whose beardlet was carved into a peace sign) proceeded to show us that he ate everything with his hands.  I asked if "troglodito" was a word in Italian, and he knew what I meant -- so I guess it was.

Yes, there was lots of wine served in jugs.  Lots of laughter, good food, and sharing of silly stories.

At the end of the dinner, Don Riccardo wanted to discuss what went well, what could have been improved, and so on.  And then he wanted to talk about Easter.  Yes, he had the grand idea of re-enacting the crucifixion.  For some odd reason, there weren't any volunteers -- although I said that I'd be happy to be a weeping woman.  I also volunteered Michael to eat as a Last Supper re-enactor.  We'll see what happens with that.

Love,

Alexandra

Another use for "scotch"

Last time we were here, "scotch" (said with an Italian accent) became a household word.  That is the magical transparent tape that La Cleaning Lady used to hold everything together.

Well, today, Tricia and I visited San Filipo da Benizi at the bottom of the hill.  As I wandered through the church, my attention was caught by a beautiful life-sized painted (presumably) hand-carved wooden Pieta.  That's a statue of Mary holding Jesus' corpse and grieving.

Very touching.  Really.

But then, I saw it: Jesus had clearly received damage at some point and been broken.  His fingers are now attached with... scotch.

Love,

Alexandra

Mamma Mia!

Tricia is visiting, so of course we had to go to Deruta.  I finally purchased the picture of Mary that I've been eying whenever I've visited this town of ceramics!  She is now gracing our home from the mantel.

I took a picture with the artist, who also made the cookie jar I happily brought home (and blogged about earlier).

Love,

Alexandra

More views

Sorry to bore you, but I had to post a few pictures I've taken over the last months.

Love,

Alexandra

Back to Normal Life...awwww

Don't you feel sorry for us?  After such a nice vacation, we have to come back to...
...a cappuccino with Signore Grassetti in the newly reopened (!!!!) Cafe Medioevo
...a conversation with Giuseppe, our lovely friend
...a BIG package from Amazon, delivered in our absence to the neighboring shop (but listed in the delivery information as having been signed by "Hook")
...Angelo, with the freshest of oranges and the most beautiful spinach (I met the man who grows it at Angelo's -- he told me later when he saw me out walking that he'll let me know when there's more ready)

Not that Michael was tired
& fell asleep on the floor or anything...

Okay, okay, so it's not all bad.  Frankly, in my opinion, life is pretty wonderful.

But I owe you the story of our remaining days and our trip home.

We thought this sky was amazing
-- do you see the ripples?

The bad news: my knees came unglued.  So I had to spend the last, beautiful, glorious, wonderful ski day at home by myself.  The good news?  There's always knitting; also, the expression "Silence is Golden" holds a lot of meaning in my life. And the kids & Michael had a fabulous time out on the slopes.

The village of Morgins

We decided to go via Zurich to get home.  While it would at first blush seem absolutely loony, it was (according to Google) an hour longer -- but was all highway.  Which means that the roads would be clear.  As a veteran of the trip up, I can tell you that this route held a lot more appeal than ice skating through the mountain passes again.  And given our average speed over those passes, it would probably be faster taking the longer route.

So, we got up early, scrubbed the house, and got on our way -- leaving only memories behind.  Having five kids means that I secretly think we also left single socks and mittens, but one can always hope.

About an hour into our trip, I called Rosly!  Rosly is my beloved grandfather's companion of many years who was extremely devoted to him until his death soon after my marriage to Michael.  I don't think I've even seen her since then, to tell the truth.  Anyway, she lives in Zurich, and I could not possibly get within spitting distance of her house without giving it a shot.  Not literally, of course.  One couldn't imagine anything so uncouth with such a lovely and well turned out lady.

She was thrilled to hear from me.  I timed it carefully (I thought) so that she would have enough time to dress and put on her face, but not enough time to make a three-course meal and get flustered about being a proper hostess.

Of course, I was outflanked and outmaneuvered at every turn.  To begin with, it took a whole lot longer than I'd anticipated.  Then, if you've never driven in Zurich...don't make it a life's goal.  There are one-way streets, things marked on the map as streets which turn out to be stairs, and absolutely no  street parking unless you have the proper permit.  Bear in mind, this is Switzerland -- you will be ticketed.

The Hookmobile.  Don't you think the new chains look snazzy?

Leaving

We finally found public parking through blind luck (or as a beloved colleague once said, "Even a blind squirrel can sometimes find a nut"), and walked to her house -- number 31, as I've addressed my letters for years.  The thing is, um, her name wasn't listed at 31.  I called her again, and she blithely told me where we should park for free right next to her house (she owns a parking spot -- gah!), and that the reason she wasn't listed at number 31 is because she lives at number 35.  Makes me wonder whether the postman knows her or whether she never got any of my thank-you notes over the years...I promise I sent them (well, most of the time)!

Walking up the stairs (note the stairs, they are important), she opened the door with a warm smile and a chuckle.  And that's when she noticed the quantity of Hooks in the stairwell.  She laughed and said that we just kept coming and coming!  She greeted all the kids (some of them twice!), and said that she'd had no idea how many of us there were!  She was terribly worried because she'd only made smoked salmon sandwiches for two or three...and there were only enough egg salad crackers for us to have one each!

After some convincing, she allowed us to take her to lunch at the "old folks'" home. Here's where the stairs come into play: Rosly will be 88 on Saturday.  She still drives.  She still walks to do her grocery shopping.  She still goes to the gym three times a week.  And she's still an absolute knockout -- always well turned out.

Everyone enjoyed their lunch; I ran to do a quick grocery shop for the things we can't buy in Todi, and then it was time to go.  Of course, she handed out Swiss chocolate bars to each of us (you did know that the Swiss eat more chocolate per capita than any other country, didn't you?), and it was time for us to brave the streets of Zurich in order to get back to the highway.

We nearly weren't brave enough.  Michael almost had a nervous breakdown -- there were several intersections where no right of way was marked, and many of the road signs were unfamiliar -- and I almost got out of the car and walked (have you learned yet that the task of navigation is a thankless one?).  After about 55 minutes of hell on wheels, we made it to the highway.  Phew.  Which meant we could take a very beautiful route home, as well as going through the Gotthard Pass (no line!) -- Europe's longest tunnel!

Partway home, the Fiat place called to inquire whether we were ever going to bring the van back....






Love,
Alexandra