tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56179547072782898692024-03-05T15:31:51.217+01:00Life In LiguriaAn American girl cooking, working, adjusting and living her dream in the Italian RivieraChristinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.comBlogger240125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-61085246342183882032014-10-31T10:47:00.002+01:002014-10-31T10:47:18.371+01:00Adventures in Southeast SicilyGenoa flooded again and poor Liguria was under a severe flood warning for several days, and we were actually forced to close being underground in La Cantina. It rained so hard one day that we ran down in galoshes in total panic, flashes of the flood that destroyed the village 3 years ago running through my head. Praying and crying, we rushed into the Cantina, soaking wet and scared to find that only a few inches of water entered. We cleaned it all up, boarded up and secured our sandbags, and promptly closed for the season the next day, basically disassembling the entire restaurant and bringing it up to the storage garage up the hill and safe from floods. Nothing serious happened, thank goodness, but it was enough to scare us, and as we were planning on closing for the season ANYWAY the following week, we figured for everyone's peace of mind it was better just to call it a season.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Overlooking Ragusa Ibla</td></tr>
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So, the bright side of closing for the season at the ridiculously early date of October 13th is that we got to catch the last rays of warm Italian sun by heading south to the beautiful island of Sicily. My first trip to Italy 15 years ago was with my high school in an organized tour of the south, where we spent several days exploring Sicily, and I remember vividly thinking, winding the streets of Taormina in the shadow of a snowcapped volcano with the blue sea stretching out before me, that it was the most beautiful place in the world. It was my first time outside of the United States, and that memory remained burned into my mind, and I've wanted to return for some time now and see if my older, more well-travelled and Italian resident self was still as in love.<br />
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The answer is easy. A big, giant <i>si.</i><br />
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We flew an easy ryanair flight from Pisa to Comiso Airport, about an hour and a half, where we rented a car and got going. We had no plans at all, besides a return ticket home from Catania Airport, so we woke up each day and decided as we went along where we would wind up.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tomato fields in Pacheri</td></tr>
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Our first night was spent in Ragusa Ibla, the historic section of the town of Ragusa, which is included in the UNESCO heritage site of the villages in the Val Di Noto. It's a town divided into two parts - Ragusa, the sort of "new" city center, or Ragusa Ibla, which actually lies across a valley of sorts, it's winding streets and ancient buildings hanging off the top of the hill. It was an easy decision where to stay for the night, as we wound our way around the mountain to Ibla.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Portopalo</td></tr>
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The next morning we traced the coast through the famous tomato fields of Pacheri, down to the most southeasterly point in Sicilia, the town of Portopalo di Capo Passero and it's Isola Delle Correnti, which shares the same longitude as Tunisia (which explains a little bit the beautiful 32 degree C temperatures we had!). Pacheri was full of tomato fields and greenhouses stretching as far as the eye could see for some time, to the point where after about 10 minutes of driving through tomatoes, Manu started chucking with disbelief that we were actually still driving through them. Portopalo was cute, but we weren't prepared for deserted beaches, and didn't even have a bottle of water, so we went on to find a market and continue along the coast.<br />
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From here, we continued on our coastal road up to the famous beach of Calamosche and the Valicari nature reserve, which has been voted one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. We thought it was certainly very pretty, with it's crystal blue water nestled between two cliffs covered in so much varied vegetation - a praying mantis crossed our path - but I was honestly a little underwhelmed. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzfgs9agis8KAWBFfp7Mwzr1bb8sacjfqjtYlLaF03bQJNmOeLysRUk8NVgL9qPCYR1Gek4BE3CbyO_LPMX91gg_rI9nzWZDKLMtYmmTye1Mgn8CCjdkZnlz-skAbszZmP7NLl_9SPKU/s1600/IMG_8839.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzfgs9agis8KAWBFfp7Mwzr1bb8sacjfqjtYlLaF03bQJNmOeLysRUk8NVgL9qPCYR1Gek4BE3CbyO_LPMX91gg_rI9nzWZDKLMtYmmTye1Mgn8CCjdkZnlz-skAbszZmP7NLl_9SPKU/s1600/IMG_8839.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Calamosche beach</td></tr>
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From here, we drove another 30 minutes and arrived in the baroque treasure of Noto, another UNESCO town that glows in that beautiful ochre sicilian light that bathes the ivory churches and buildings. It's a perfectly preserved jewel of baroque buildings, with ornately carved balconies peeking off of these golden marble buildings.<br />
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Then, our adventure continued, as we decided to explore the unmarked national marine park of Plemmirio. Getting to this nature reserve was a bit of an adventure, but when we did our hunt was rewarded as we discovered one of the most beautiful little beaches I've ever seen. This marine park allows swimming only in certain areas to preserve the sea, and these different spots in the peninsula are called varchi. Each varco (there are over 35) has a different character - varco 3 was a longer, open beach, whereas varco 26 was rocky with no beach to speak of. Varco 34, however, was our favorite, and we shared this little piece of paradise with only 2 other people...and lots of little fish! You need a car, patience, a GPS, and definitely a snack, as again - when I say that these towns close for the winter and off season, I mean that in a worse sense than Monterosso. At least we have a bar or restaurant open (just one, but still better than nothing), whereas here, we needed to drive quite a bit to find an open market. We wised up after the first day, and brought little provisions everywhere we went.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSOKjGmhhxITTE5jWk9rEKAmXt3b4azPrGeONxGUyynrLidfy2c45hp7_QQC-3wFv1qYKSTdLymFm79I2mN8Rui2DBTGPOMhHRsDFJiCYZ_4djschH4uNOh2jG0OyhrjqD8TMYy0CSm_Y/s1600/IMG_8899.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSOKjGmhhxITTE5jWk9rEKAmXt3b4azPrGeONxGUyynrLidfy2c45hp7_QQC-3wFv1qYKSTdLymFm79I2mN8Rui2DBTGPOMhHRsDFJiCYZ_4djschH4uNOh2jG0OyhrjqD8TMYy0CSm_Y/s1600/IMG_8899.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Varco 34 in Plemmirio</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8FPX2Z760rKiFmgI14Ahe-UjEvDnEuiqKBnQ-MVR2cOWM6DDGHmbQGqm9VszfCnRXMBj5P-3tUkr5h2c6ng5nMOKYpK5GS3qlgD0H9sKDzBNqPyM_704Fokc1nbBQAqeoQrjt-mk7BDk/s1600/IMG_8886.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8FPX2Z760rKiFmgI14Ahe-UjEvDnEuiqKBnQ-MVR2cOWM6DDGHmbQGqm9VszfCnRXMBj5P-3tUkr5h2c6ng5nMOKYpK5GS3qlgD0H9sKDzBNqPyM_704Fokc1nbBQAqeoQrjt-mk7BDk/s1600/IMG_8886.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noto</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_MO3vyUtRgIkjthdihHGi4CMJgiTGcOGIXbl6Nle56rEbEE4aWrYaM9Em9k89pjbbXw5AHv8vMWR5e1dXPUxDn4ioxirBNS1NnAGG9WYN9jPJ7tzKILVjPPqNY_CNoQQ-MZkkH_anuQ/s1600/IMG_8906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_MO3vyUtRgIkjthdihHGi4CMJgiTGcOGIXbl6Nle56rEbEE4aWrYaM9Em9k89pjbbXw5AHv8vMWR5e1dXPUxDn4ioxirBNS1NnAGG9WYN9jPJ7tzKILVjPPqNY_CNoQQ-MZkkH_anuQ/s1600/IMG_8906.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Varco 34 in Plemmirio</td></tr>
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We then made our way to the city of Siracusa, where we decided to base ourselves in the old part on the little island of Ortigia. We spent the night roaming the alleyways of this beautiful city, and the next morning departed for some more coastal adventures.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK1vw3WGl_VqdCpLdMQSjG4F8ix2zC-uniXFFlZGjU-qvkngvpkQ-6DqrpW3kRjWgQFFQyJQ3oZGavClh0DVk_YsmRVX9xkBcMeTw3bwHFDgn35jxbk1dClBjd3b0t5aheVK-Vnc35Ql8/s1600/IMG_8922.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK1vw3WGl_VqdCpLdMQSjG4F8ix2zC-uniXFFlZGjU-qvkngvpkQ-6DqrpW3kRjWgQFFQyJQ3oZGavClh0DVk_YsmRVX9xkBcMeTw3bwHFDgn35jxbk1dClBjd3b0t5aheVK-Vnc35Ql8/s1600/IMG_8922.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Siracusa, Ortigia</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJY1C6-eOgtG4SWok8KnhrVNveiEqePUZulFEXASy1fwqUlpeN93UTaXjTh-39LMQxGLtW1oR0naLo1oWMIA71LvWx-x8_TIcpi4yQkFe4gQGbwOsDfEU6lIsERSPB1KPCLrjPFkfjcT0/s1600/IMG_8943.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJY1C6-eOgtG4SWok8KnhrVNveiEqePUZulFEXASy1fwqUlpeN93UTaXjTh-39LMQxGLtW1oR0naLo1oWMIA71LvWx-x8_TIcpi4yQkFe4gQGbwOsDfEU6lIsERSPB1KPCLrjPFkfjcT0/s1600/IMG_8943.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fontane Bianche</td></tr>
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The nearby beach town of Aranella was beautiful and deserted, but another 30 minutes brought us to Fontante Bianche, the busiest of the beaches we saw. Fully set up with different beach bars that rent lounge chairs and umbrellas, it seemed the most commercial this far off season (most beach bars and such are closed by the end of October), but it was a nice change to not have to bring lunch with us, and certainly nicer to be able to buy a cold beer.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC7ye_N0YWyqrTzgmhmAFFLTaoV1lngicQM7Nflm07K8GhHK12_UzaSp31muzsukA3k5F8SiANCjD_HCtxwaBh4qSCRYJHRJCH5F0PBmVDEPgrR1XhDU6_mSM8kZzC0LaS2-3yF1EGgTY/s1600/IMG_9018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC7ye_N0YWyqrTzgmhmAFFLTaoV1lngicQM7Nflm07K8GhHK12_UzaSp31muzsukA3k5F8SiANCjD_HCtxwaBh4qSCRYJHRJCH5F0PBmVDEPgrR1XhDU6_mSM8kZzC0LaS2-3yF1EGgTY/s1600/IMG_9018.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isola Bella</td></tr>
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We then headed up to the "pearl of Sicily", Taormina. We unfortunately arrived in the rain, dressed still for the 30 degree weather of the province of Siracusa, but even just an hour further north, the temperature dropped to about 20. Not cold by any means, but we certainly would not be doing any swimming. It cleared up the next day, and we hiked down to Isola Bella where we rented a boat and sailed along the coast, entering a grotto unimaginably blue, gazing up the whole time at this volcano that dominates everything.<br />
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On the way to Catania airport, we stopped first to eat some cannoli and take home sweets to Liguria (as our carry on bag...2 kg of them!), and then moved south to Aci Trezza and Aci Castello, where we took a quick swim next to the fabled rocks that Cyclops threw at Odysseus many, many centuries ago. It was an easy 30 minute drive to the airport after lunch on the beach, where we dropped off our car and boarded the plane back north.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEU-f5kUfqiycJSE37M1-TgRWo_1cU4zWMDzj7dnLs3AUMIxjfrsPg9eYiPImcgvEj9Bl1lHmLkWDBALtxDsK9xAImr1hxRpV9t1xGAbZ8OVvo143LSP28CaXUuG8WDx-kSbyNu94D-7I/s1600/IMG_9024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEU-f5kUfqiycJSE37M1-TgRWo_1cU4zWMDzj7dnLs3AUMIxjfrsPg9eYiPImcgvEj9Bl1lHmLkWDBALtxDsK9xAImr1hxRpV9t1xGAbZ8OVvo143LSP28CaXUuG8WDx-kSbyNu94D-7I/s1600/IMG_9024.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the boat!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNj0-rccYdKnKJzkXFBVVXYeBxO268TWHAVJ0biiixn5HF1gohNZTCL0jdo5IrVCYvDRrAUOaFg0Zej2eGPCQtCINckrQKx1Ls7fHBEk-4v6DGbo7FI7YgHjXFEeOgBclzL2k7Fw8xNc0/s1600/IMG_9036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNj0-rccYdKnKJzkXFBVVXYeBxO268TWHAVJ0biiixn5HF1gohNZTCL0jdo5IrVCYvDRrAUOaFg0Zej2eGPCQtCINckrQKx1Ls7fHBEk-4v6DGbo7FI7YgHjXFEeOgBclzL2k7Fw8xNc0/s1600/IMG_9036.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue grotto off the coast by Giardini Naxos</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzRHKs5OzxBGxOzWMafZE5vg6mvUIYbf-BTr72DDsPJ6BD-9qeSaStkqPx1bAFmZhY4y6iyJRiyk4KPhqlSX-sHzqw4DzM4QR8GIYwKMvVqRAkhp8p4HEq46nxvhlIBF4Fo-Tg3z62BSU/s1600/IMG_9068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzRHKs5OzxBGxOzWMafZE5vg6mvUIYbf-BTr72DDsPJ6BD-9qeSaStkqPx1bAFmZhY4y6iyJRiyk4KPhqlSX-sHzqw4DzM4QR8GIYwKMvVqRAkhp8p4HEq46nxvhlIBF4Fo-Tg3z62BSU/s1600/IMG_9068.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taormina from our hotel, El Jebel</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cannolo from Roberto!</td></tr>
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The best part about these 5 days is that Sicily is so close and accessible, and Sicilians are just wonderful. Sometimes I feel terrible when I hear the old stereotype that Ligurians are rude and unwelcoming, but even Manu - a Ligurian himself - admitted freely that after all of these happy, sunny Sicilians, there is certainly a backbone to the stereotype. We ate incredibly well, spent very little (being used to prices on the Riviera), and explored a small part of a big island exactly as we wanted to. We can't wait to go back, having missed so many things in the west, north, and further southwest...and as it's so close and so much warmer than here during the winter, who knows?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ancient theater in Taormina, with Etna in the background</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aci Trezza, the rocks of Cyclops</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aci Castello</td></tr>
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<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-9786147227419632472014-09-21T12:51:00.001+02:002014-09-21T12:51:23.150+02:00A day in the canoe <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIWnU-4r0KR4aE487K2HgkceY7J_x9B27RtpG5Yxops6_3YPxVpkGGViz1ohHaEBf-DQZHSVloY2RxYHAZL2QPM5ROH-LscFzL6hItAGmkyxkumADFygQcYSNeufgkqP9OR0JhMjjkyPg/s1600/IMG_8656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIWnU-4r0KR4aE487K2HgkceY7J_x9B27RtpG5Yxops6_3YPxVpkGGViz1ohHaEBf-DQZHSVloY2RxYHAZL2QPM5ROH-LscFzL6hItAGmkyxkumADFygQcYSNeufgkqP9OR0JhMjjkyPg/s1600/IMG_8656.JPG" height="131" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Panorama at sunset</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhI1d0HhuyTBCdCtOWAt8mpAZDJKz7bkNzwOZEEx4ByJNJLoaRhY-CHeXqTibDnQ7iCXkq3EoPM3Xv08eyBxJp6Qulv9HsFyC25d2ficQT4pbwIhCz3KaMWkA45cq9qPEV_3_mpcQoSo/s1600/IMG_8641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhI1d0HhuyTBCdCtOWAt8mpAZDJKz7bkNzwOZEEx4ByJNJLoaRhY-CHeXqTibDnQ7iCXkq3EoPM3Xv08eyBxJp6Qulv9HsFyC25d2ficQT4pbwIhCz3KaMWkA45cq9qPEV_3_mpcQoSo/s1600/IMG_8641.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Third fish! The first ones I was too busy screaming and launching fish at Manu to take a picture.</td></tr>
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It may have happened that last year, someone's very fortunate soon-to-be-nephew was gifted a lovely, inflatable canoe by a very skeptical soon-to-be-Aunt for his First Communion. This patient and wise not-yet-Aunt and her more fanciful fiancé expressed some doubts about the usefulness of such a large gift, but bought it anyway. Said canoe arrived, was opened with great enthusiasm, inflated and brought out a grand total of one time, then may have gone to live in it's new home, "the land of unused toys for 10 year old boys who love video games" i.e. the garage up the hill. This soon-to-be-nephew never mentioned it again and we all lived happily ever after.<br />
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So, we reclaimed the long forgotten canoe. <br />
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We dusted it off (and much to our amusement, no one even noticed) and brought down our giant inflatable canoe last Wednesday, loaded it up with focaccia, beer and fishing line, and sailed off to Punta Mesco. Manuel spent most of his childhood hand line fishing, which is one of his absolute favorite things to do, and he was really eager to teach me. We rowed off to the end of the mountain that borders the village, and tied ourselves to a buoy there and threw our weighted fishing line down. It's really easy - you have a long piece of fishing line with a few hooks on it and a weight on the end. You put some calamari or shrimp as bait, drop the line down and unravel until it hits the bottom, then keep the line tense until you feel something nibble. You jerk it up and start pulling in the line as fast as possible and then realize that the fish is smarter than you are, and swam right away. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikZe8gjetTovd8G7zWQzkSi6k6hchUTBapPpwHjUxwfF-sb4C8RhZVVBWL8E59RdZleEV1HtU6-o5HcW8VBNVGcrbIN7c9JqTzDU8OAZYco7iQwJsVQR_NvBDV9XoMLrTAGsxhXmJMyac/s1600/IMG_8643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikZe8gjetTovd8G7zWQzkSi6k6hchUTBapPpwHjUxwfF-sb4C8RhZVVBWL8E59RdZleEV1HtU6-o5HcW8VBNVGcrbIN7c9JqTzDU8OAZYco7iQwJsVQR_NvBDV9XoMLrTAGsxhXmJMyac/s1600/IMG_8643.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manuel sails back out while I read on the beach</td></tr>
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This time, however, on my first try I felt a big pull and started pulling in the line as fast as I could. Looking down through the crystal clear water always makes objects appear bigger than they are, and I was quite convinced I had caught a tuna or something disturbingly large. Instead, on my first try I got 2 little fish, about 5 or so inches long! I was ecstatic, but wasn't ready to start reaching my hand into their wiggling body to remove the hook, so much to Manuel's annoyance, I simply threw them at him. After a few more hours and 14 fish between the two of us, we turned back to the little beach behind the Giant statue for our picnic. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ2DPTznVeuboc3-O9ns1pghE-zXMJCVeoFwSUvLGB61qHooWo-e-tzoCf4UhW4mITJzPs3Fx5vqJG7wheIqwwj46Ur3EHDTdj-V64XBqL-r6BAXpkFHecWcGxF_MDnYd4JCsdyGk0UdE/s1600/IMG_8645.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ2DPTznVeuboc3-O9ns1pghE-zXMJCVeoFwSUvLGB61qHooWo-e-tzoCf4UhW4mITJzPs3Fx5vqJG7wheIqwwj46Ur3EHDTdj-V64XBqL-r6BAXpkFHecWcGxF_MDnYd4JCsdyGk0UdE/s1600/IMG_8645.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of our fishy prizes</td></tr>
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It's really incredible seeing this area from the sea. I always recommend that tourists take the ferry, even though it costs more, because looking back at these tiny villages from the water always leaves that impression of awe in just how isolated and special these towns are. I'm surprised, however, that more people do not rent kayaks and go exploring like this. It's not the easiest, especially going against the current, and your muscles certainly let you know that they are displeased the next few days, but it's magical moving through the blue water with all of the terraced mountains in the distance.<br />
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And if you're lucky, you can even get something to eat out of it all! We had already made dinner plans before the whole day took off (sailed off?) in the canoe, so our prized fish made a lovely base for a fish broth for the restaurant that night. You can't get fresher than that. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZue2jVCLmrlJj9ESSNO2GUmkVqFtVno1Gg0L2msh3EhZawMVBka6ppI6V_WyJbfN2RxHPUe9jZ7rNB6tCaHaBWWaWo_XONS6Chkp5rXrZungR4VBiyZbT73RvStGsVPyPaE5XcswUgxE/s1600/IMG_8646.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZue2jVCLmrlJj9ESSNO2GUmkVqFtVno1Gg0L2msh3EhZawMVBka6ppI6V_WyJbfN2RxHPUe9jZ7rNB6tCaHaBWWaWo_XONS6Chkp5rXrZungR4VBiyZbT73RvStGsVPyPaE5XcswUgxE/s1600/IMG_8646.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a real fisherman. I imagined he was laughing at us.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbYS8aQMfyHBwoDvabMdqeLe5EhjKH_n1FmS1BKoBw0F5WRMFP8pFo5wwJm8uIJnaIZnS-ziV7BegqQvzxHrkV45wHRufquIuYC7nMI0DOtYFi_3J33G_w2lPQDCX_n-1ybSlGfF7QftY/s1600/IMG_8659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbYS8aQMfyHBwoDvabMdqeLe5EhjKH_n1FmS1BKoBw0F5WRMFP8pFo5wwJm8uIJnaIZnS-ziV7BegqQvzxHrkV45wHRufquIuYC7nMI0DOtYFi_3J33G_w2lPQDCX_n-1ybSlGfF7QftY/s1600/IMG_8659.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back towards Monterosso. Our house is the pink building on the left!</td></tr>
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Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-25509724107503797632014-09-08T12:49:00.002+02:002014-09-08T12:49:14.454+02:00Tiny TellaroHello there, blog. It's been a while. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh6t-zeDfNKYCQfpWklI6ru05ri9TjPeqx1lQzU_FOGB_rE4uS67cEkUYTW3gDElUiMGcsiauRSx2jNGWxvKZhtCPOA6mo2f8bGSP2aNnuwBbazTsC4hgCNWarauN0_IZJNGwN9q3LGPc/s1600/Screenshot+2014-09-08+12.41.35.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh6t-zeDfNKYCQfpWklI6ru05ri9TjPeqx1lQzU_FOGB_rE4uS67cEkUYTW3gDElUiMGcsiauRSx2jNGWxvKZhtCPOA6mo2f8bGSP2aNnuwBbazTsC4hgCNWarauN0_IZJNGwN9q3LGPc/s1600/Screenshot+2014-09-08+12.41.35.png" height="316" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tellaro with Tino and Tinetto in the distance</td></tr>
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I've been very busy this summer, and haven't had too much time for myself. I let the blog go for a little bit so I could maybe iron a shirt or two or sit down for 15 minutes in those precious, short 15 minutes of free time. Plus, after now 4 years living here, the little things don't seem so interesting anymore. The market is the market, spring comes with it's green and summer ends with it's peaches and figs. The sea is still blue, the village is still packed and full, and another August has happily ended.<br />
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This summer we actually didn't even leave the village very much on our sacred Wednesdays off. We didn't go hiking, we didn't go out on the boat, we didn't do anything - we just sat on the beach and swam and relaxed (and answered emails and typed, but fortunately all of these things can be done on the beach). But now that wonderful September is here, we have a little bit more desire and energy to go exploring, and we actually, finally, really truly did as we got in the car and headed off to Lerici and it's tiny frazione of Tellaro on the sea. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrx06KYPnjJEkrYEm8o2bxqrDgaZsWkY4aUmU6Bg4E3L0-3w700YDqnbQXgc8b7SjQ9An9P2t_EhdLGaex5mbNPIBvIO1zM5WWITJHiigzdCTSd4FUS4FYChIM3PltNoRfht2L_fEY6OU/s1600/Screenshot+2014-09-08+12.41.45.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrx06KYPnjJEkrYEm8o2bxqrDgaZsWkY4aUmU6Bg4E3L0-3w700YDqnbQXgc8b7SjQ9An9P2t_EhdLGaex5mbNPIBvIO1zM5WWITJHiigzdCTSd4FUS4FYChIM3PltNoRfht2L_fEY6OU/s1600/Screenshot+2014-09-08+12.41.45.png" height="318" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of our beaches found today</td></tr>
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I have to go to Lerici every now and again for <a href="http://bellavitaitalia.com/" target="_blank">work</a>, so I've become a little bit familiar with it, but Tellaro has still alluded me. It's beyond Lerici on a windy seaside road, and has been voted one of Italy's "borghi piu belli", or "most beautiful towns". I'd always wanted to go, but as Lerici and the surrounding area across the Golfo Dei Poeti isn't connected by the train, it means I'm dependent on my exhausted fiancé to drive us there (we got engaged in June!).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXzm1f62PWhv8cq3R_-KXG93jtJiNNa86o1zjNZJ-kqOtc5KogdFViiRzJQXfWyFhEy-xsJjK6v5DJlbzJlr30cZYFr2LaH5OZFGzsshItxFZ64nDpI6A2wC9bk95up5GG5cwxC9k2KI/s1600/Screenshot+2014-09-08+12.41.53.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXzm1f62PWhv8cq3R_-KXG93jtJiNNa86o1zjNZJ-kqOtc5KogdFViiRzJQXfWyFhEy-xsJjK6v5DJlbzJlr30cZYFr2LaH5OZFGzsshItxFZ64nDpI6A2wC9bk95up5GG5cwxC9k2KI/s1600/Screenshot+2014-09-08+12.41.53.png" height="320" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The carrugi of Tellaro</td></tr>
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It takes about an hour from Monterosso, winding up through Pignone to La Spezia, then getting to Lerici and more climbing and winding as you park along the narrow road and begin your exploration. You can park for free on the street before arriving in Tellaro, which is car-free and in that, all too familiar to us here in the Cinque Terre. From here, you walk down the narrow road and have the option to take the stairs down to the little slivers of beach that lie below. Here, the road is further above the beach - you need to climb about 150 stairs down to reach it. There are 2 different stairs you can take down to the seaside, where you have the options of getting a sunbed or the free beach to lay out your towel. There are also a few little bars and such for a snack and a beer, and some nicer restaurants attached to hotels that perch above the bluest of blue seas. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhrYuOoV8JViu2pnhX7WVyFcrfHgXTwv-1vg-9RfLQsia6E3q_MdoGQ3CB-1N6PzeJJMAWCGHaDe6PcLDZUpjYhWs4HwGwOffhDRd7IG44J6i02Z8oskGYJngl_InDDm4XSQRfQLQGJ8/s1600/Screenshot+2014-09-08+12.42.31.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhrYuOoV8JViu2pnhX7WVyFcrfHgXTwv-1vg-9RfLQsia6E3q_MdoGQ3CB-1N6PzeJJMAWCGHaDe6PcLDZUpjYhWs4HwGwOffhDRd7IG44J6i02Z8oskGYJngl_InDDm4XSQRfQLQGJ8/s1600/Screenshot+2014-09-08+12.42.31.png" height="317" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A blue sea with Portovenere and Palmaria in the distance</td></tr>
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After spending the afternoon avoiding jellyfish (the little clear ones that don't sting, but scare me nonetheless), eating focaccia and basking in the sun, we headed down into Tellaro for an aperitivo. It's a 15 minute walk with tons of scenic pictures to be taken along the way, and as you arrive at the top of Tellaro, the pictures are incredible, overlooking the whole Gulf of Poets, with Palmaria and Portovenere in the distance. Tellaro (population 1,200 - more or less like Monterosso) is an old village much like our other Ligurian villages on the sea. Muted reds, pinks, yellow buildings gently leaning on each other, worn from the sea air and sun, hanging over the water and wet, dark rocks that reach up to meet them. An old church and it's bell tower are closest to the sea, recalling the ancient legend of Tellaro's famous octopus, who allegedly rose from the sea centuries ago to ring the bells to alert the sleeping citizens of an incoming pirate attack. Signore octopus is celebrated every year in a <i>festa</i> the second week of August, and (ungratefully so) found on the menu of every restaurant in the village. <br />
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Tellaro is as incredibly charming as it's legend. It's tiny little alleyways (called <i>carrugi</i> here) and staircases all wind up at the same place - down in the harbor, lined with colorful fishing boats in repose and cats soaking up the sun. Kids play-fight with sticks, a diver gears up to go out, the tan Italian women snuff out a cigarette while laughing with their friends. It's a little raggedy, but that is what makes these Ligurian villages so charming. They're fishing villages that don't need a fresh coat of paint to ooze charm.<br />
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Though it's the last village in the Gulf of Poets that clings to the coast here in Liguria before arriving in beautiful Tuscany and the bigger cities of Massa and Carrara, it's more than worth the drive to get here, and an easy day trip in the weekdays of the offseason to get another slice of what makes where we live so special.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1GPyfq_JBogdOhQUvDdkU9mOYGIgi6ro108x1s7EeXmd55E3rYqg3NP4uhnGHN9ty3xpezq0FUFx4AveJX5ToKl5op70tk-9jt8jwIdZL44I_dpR3mjBD7CprMEVMPMAJyztzc1GCohw/s1600/Screenshot+2014-09-08+12.42.43.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1GPyfq_JBogdOhQUvDdkU9mOYGIgi6ro108x1s7EeXmd55E3rYqg3NP4uhnGHN9ty3xpezq0FUFx4AveJX5ToKl5op70tk-9jt8jwIdZL44I_dpR3mjBD7CprMEVMPMAJyztzc1GCohw/s1600/Screenshot+2014-09-08+12.42.43.png" height="319" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Say cheese!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXru3HBehdMWxYqzdiCXR_6gxZUv7l7LSlvW8oGRTZgKaBJGrGmcwFEscHm0dfCyUDH3m4nWdyXDZMNLkraFTv8AvGsKxlTw-kb0CZQRY-icfeMLO5YRtKOSuFwMl8PJuFfkl64pnN71I/s1600/Screenshot+2014-09-08+12.42.07.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXru3HBehdMWxYqzdiCXR_6gxZUv7l7LSlvW8oGRTZgKaBJGrGmcwFEscHm0dfCyUDH3m4nWdyXDZMNLkraFTv8AvGsKxlTw-kb0CZQRY-icfeMLO5YRtKOSuFwMl8PJuFfkl64pnN71I/s1600/Screenshot+2014-09-08+12.42.07.png" height="318" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beach from above - the settlement in the left corner is Portovenere, and next to it Palmaria. </td></tr>
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Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-1089242096213225612014-05-15T10:47:00.004+02:002014-05-15T10:52:52.206+02:00Wednesday hiking - Corniglia, Volastra, Manarola via trail 6On the most savored and sacred day of the week, Wednesday, we decided to do something different. This year has given us both new, different and welcome responsibilities that mean that Wednesday has so far been a day we spend usually with our couch. Watching the Sopranos. Eating pizza. Oddly, Italy and New Jersey are strikingly similar in some ways.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGWAjnWZONm8sKazTFLjiu7ElfTm2ouTevybSwD0hFjKBF_6mpgXRTWmDPAkLLStjQZQa_r1KZlSbL3KpcbJoYe3KGamwUqGr-mzdnSgGytESfg1fIkKfLV2fxFeuuJh3FnAqXORXowk/s1600/IMG_7946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGWAjnWZONm8sKazTFLjiu7ElfTm2ouTevybSwD0hFjKBF_6mpgXRTWmDPAkLLStjQZQa_r1KZlSbL3KpcbJoYe3KGamwUqGr-mzdnSgGytESfg1fIkKfLV2fxFeuuJh3FnAqXORXowk/s1600/IMG_7946.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>Instead, when we got up and saw a big giant sun outside the window and we decided to get hiking. As I've mentioned before, I am a big chicken, shockingly clumsy, and more or less a danger to myself. Needless to say, hiking on narrow, rocky trails that lace mountainsides is not necessarily my idea of fun. But I recently read a silly internet meme or something of the like that said "What would you do if you knew you would never be afraid and you could never fail?", and for some reason it struck a chord in me. I was ready to go hiking.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-qRNJlmogod8nEVNfwn7j6f3b1N0tZsvxsx1052C3ATQi0J3jVyK6muu9G1rzBjZp790oPLvxuUe40AtRPQPF2F2T8XVXFtm5Wdi1U_6K7hp-N2M1E1YJsxee6h6R-iLdy488hePX9c/s1600/IMG_8026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-qRNJlmogod8nEVNfwn7j6f3b1N0tZsvxsx1052C3ATQi0J3jVyK6muu9G1rzBjZp790oPLvxuUe40AtRPQPF2F2T8XVXFtm5Wdi1U_6K7hp-N2M1E1YJsxee6h6R-iLdy488hePX9c/s1600/IMG_8026.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not great with knee problems</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMODDiCF0Pm6iTVGzPPMap_wnpriw2sVBr29b-Ok5N1tKse8dH-ON9Nm9jCwKvquZbdvJZvH5BPHIXJudfa_ivYEDm6ypSzU9We0vTQlf1_IMfbfND3T38AX3JPbrYaJB6f5KYX8yUpSg/s1600/IMG_7951.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMODDiCF0Pm6iTVGzPPMap_wnpriw2sVBr29b-Ok5N1tKse8dH-ON9Nm9jCwKvquZbdvJZvH5BPHIXJudfa_ivYEDm6ypSzU9We0vTQlf1_IMfbfND3T38AX3JPbrYaJB6f5KYX8yUpSg/s1600/IMG_7951.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><br />
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Originally, I wanted to hike from the nearby village of Manarola up to it's <i>frazione</i> (or little side town that is still technically part of the town, though farther up the hill) to Volastra via trail 6. I somehow figured that this was not too petrifying or too far to really scare me, though some advice from more sporty friends turned us towards the longer trail starting at Corniglia, on to Volastra, then picking up the trail back down into Manarola. </div>
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It was one of the best things I've ever done in my life.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4PX12CaJuoGwEmQvSH-aUa9xAltmXFjYyWx5M4NSnH_-VALc3ucMIzbnlPx6SmTpouUgCHkNFRHeBryIiVH_k5s0aDIx6qkwxJ_Ed1r7qlpFfXkzGGLMYvqkYTznXWUqZYtPQ_x4e1mc/s1600/IMG_8021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4PX12CaJuoGwEmQvSH-aUa9xAltmXFjYyWx5M4NSnH_-VALc3ucMIzbnlPx6SmTpouUgCHkNFRHeBryIiVH_k5s0aDIx6qkwxJ_Ed1r7qlpFfXkzGGLMYvqkYTznXWUqZYtPQ_x4e1mc/s1600/IMG_8021.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sheer dropoff on the side, but worth it for this view!</td></tr>
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I didn't know quite what to expect, which for me can be a huge anxiety trigger, as I didn't have time to previously google image the Corniglia-Volastra trail (if you are laughing, this means that you know I am not kidding at all). I was petrified of sheer drops, sharp turns and <a href="http://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xylocopa_violacea" target="_blank">giant death bees</a>. I have decided that 3 happy hiking hours later I am still petrified of death bees, but can deal with the aforementioned two things provided they have a view this breathtaking.</div>
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From Corniglia, my secret favorite of the Cinque Terre, you loop up (and up, and up...) on the mountainside through the lush green and woods until it levels out a bit about halfway to the next stop, Volastra. The nicest part is that though you are inland for many parts, you always have the great blue sea in the distance, and different viewpoints of the most picturesque town of the Cinque Terre. Corniglia pops up on the right, on the left, through the trees and vines, a reassuring and colorful speck amidst all the green and blue.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFPdE9Yid9Kg6YL65YHC9ZAd6kT49Ba_yqiamYlDFbo7ilSbkGWVlE3c1ULMx7rZCe_1k9zKe7pxW1wT0QAUvHeoFOluDIK2w7EfaAURP84XZhs8II8Zlu7TBeANZE-waW1AVliaKtCo/s1600/IMG_8028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFPdE9Yid9Kg6YL65YHC9ZAd6kT49Ba_yqiamYlDFbo7ilSbkGWVlE3c1ULMx7rZCe_1k9zKe7pxW1wT0QAUvHeoFOluDIK2w7EfaAURP84XZhs8II8Zlu7TBeANZE-waW1AVliaKtCo/s1600/IMG_8028.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hi Manarola!</td></tr>
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The trail leveled off after about 45 minutes, though certain portions are quite narrow with very steep steps and some sharp and sheer drop-offs underneath. The more level part is also quite narrow, but breathtaking. You walk through the green vines, through the wildflowers, squinting at the glare of the sun off of the turquoise Ligurian sea, and just cannot help but stop and smile and say, "wow". A lot.</div>
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When you arrive in little, charming Volastra, you can take a little minibus down to Manarola if you like, but we continued on to some (about 500) unpleasant steps down into Manarola on the next part of trail 6. The stone stairs are a bit of a pain in the ankle, so to speak, but after you arrive at a part that has less "steps" but more sort of steep parts down. If you have some leg issues or vertigo this might not be for you. I was ok with it, but twice when Manu encouraged me to look at the view, I happily declined and continued walking. This part of the trail took us about 45 minutes, but we went quickly trying to avoid the singing French hikers just behind us. The whole thing, with LOTS of stops for pictures and a sorbetto in Volastra, took us just under 3 hours.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI6TMw4-N2R3pQPrl341DC1ecaLYMooR1b0TjQAnDamx-XCeXt4kzhzI7SDDyqWvwfmc742uOZoQ3p3aGnrdPpXjTFm73yDX7cYvNmTmOeyWQBc5hIOb2F-z1wmpFwhOPhiNHYyb4J0d0/s1600/IMG_8024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI6TMw4-N2R3pQPrl341DC1ecaLYMooR1b0TjQAnDamx-XCeXt4kzhzI7SDDyqWvwfmc742uOZoQ3p3aGnrdPpXjTFm73yDX7cYvNmTmOeyWQBc5hIOb2F-z1wmpFwhOPhiNHYyb4J0d0/s1600/IMG_8024.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful Corniglia</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiean8j2sebhI7dQggBOlgIzG3K7k4uWtYG4ALYlxHzIcPKoxD23fowrtnvL_DuTzc8DPgCqE4QiZpXThPUWtuuJyyXwoUrtqVNyqOBU1WoE_a5Icc0-X7U0v6nacZPJjhzxevH7tyWsMA/s1600/IMG_7973.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiean8j2sebhI7dQggBOlgIzG3K7k4uWtYG4ALYlxHzIcPKoxD23fowrtnvL_DuTzc8DPgCqE4QiZpXThPUWtuuJyyXwoUrtqVNyqOBU1WoE_a5Icc0-X7U0v6nacZPJjhzxevH7tyWsMA/s1600/IMG_7973.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a>The most amazing thing about this trail is that you walk through the vines, through the terraces and over the little grape "monorails" for a good part of it. <br />
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I think that for someone to really appreciate and understand the wine culture here and to fully experience the territory, this is the trail you need to hike, not the always talked about and fawned over trail 2. We stopped a few times and started chatting with other hikers, and once they found out that Manuel was actually from here, they all asked him, each time, if he ever got sick of this view, if living here he was still able to appreciate what he had around him. He smiled each time, and answered perfectly, "You never get sick of it. It's amazing".</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjwnytLCfqsMC_SgFy7nPuS43yiDcv0IePwSXl6AmvbP7ANFlMjlXBEoLxcoqzWZSF_zyywWtDzpTloifcH-foo-NfvqCJRy5HqpyK4yzslpyB1yHI4ygbC3NLw0eFlLvGNjduagza78/s1600/IMG_8001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjwnytLCfqsMC_SgFy7nPuS43yiDcv0IePwSXl6AmvbP7ANFlMjlXBEoLxcoqzWZSF_zyywWtDzpTloifcH-foo-NfvqCJRy5HqpyK4yzslpyB1yHI4ygbC3NLw0eFlLvGNjduagza78/s1600/IMG_8001.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From one side, Corniglia</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfuCI3JzIHM0tKcfo-skH531OvpbVAEgIBgwCpW6KtT3eTuCR53YNp-lZn35wz5MFZs7hWC2wwIZLDrYN8BmAaDAl0HOb3jEqG9cXHlHiQNReJtWQ-eUcxiUaKy8_9_lkF-pLW3eoB_gw/s1600/IMG_8002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfuCI3JzIHM0tKcfo-skH531OvpbVAEgIBgwCpW6KtT3eTuCR53YNp-lZn35wz5MFZs7hWC2wwIZLDrYN8BmAaDAl0HOb3jEqG9cXHlHiQNReJtWQ-eUcxiUaKy8_9_lkF-pLW3eoB_gw/s1600/IMG_8002.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the other side, Manarola amidst the vines, the terraces, and the little grape train</td></tr>
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Sitting on a stoop overlooking this hill laced with terraces filled with budding vines, Corniglia shyly peeking out in the distance on the right and Manarola grinning on the left, I found myself thinking that this viewpoint, this picture, perfectly sums up the backbreaking centuries of hard work the locals have put in to these terraces and the cultivation of the land. This is truly a national park. You cannot see this view without agreeing wholeheartedly that this area is certainly deserving as it's UNESCO World Heritage status. It's magical.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYYPWvczkogecbKULpkbqIHjulTqvwau9Yn0oHfiCSYXD4-iC2xQfjyQ52sqQOU1Rz7dX77bMrZ26nE2SRweLzU8YkoWnzmOToBWLi9GgywNgDaO8HKkFSqqdjEwXmQWokCO2K4pDxNs/s1600/IMG_8019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYYPWvczkogecbKULpkbqIHjulTqvwau9Yn0oHfiCSYXD4-iC2xQfjyQ52sqQOU1Rz7dX77bMrZ26nE2SRweLzU8YkoWnzmOToBWLi9GgywNgDaO8HKkFSqqdjEwXmQWokCO2K4pDxNs/s1600/IMG_8019.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wildflowers and Manarola</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV_kz62HGVB18BWztMjcepACNOmuWepAEIvcloCNL9MiiqBs3Px5JZP2ZBvphfra_yd0llN-7wg6pxaoo7obkvsbL_EndotmOfnYJ7yO53wzD_L93LZLOlfLGu_4HvpPg4L5NP-X6AUco/s1600/IMG_8020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV_kz62HGVB18BWztMjcepACNOmuWepAEIvcloCNL9MiiqBs3Px5JZP2ZBvphfra_yd0llN-7wg6pxaoo7obkvsbL_EndotmOfnYJ7yO53wzD_L93LZLOlfLGu_4HvpPg4L5NP-X6AUco/s1600/IMG_8020.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Salad bar, Italian style in someone's garden outside Volastra</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3jScBkwDLo2BJ0W8x_r0q3ZXJqptWIw2cSo9yBfb0GFaokF2idF0hYeqe5GYQOzYeQx9DD2YwyQ4_vwpHdcogYhv82mLxAJ2dhg5FU7wAI0m4-LiB0ArIe-KinDooBzfc4PE9OJDUjH0/s1600/IMG_8025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3jScBkwDLo2BJ0W8x_r0q3ZXJqptWIw2cSo9yBfb0GFaokF2idF0hYeqe5GYQOzYeQx9DD2YwyQ4_vwpHdcogYhv82mLxAJ2dhg5FU7wAI0m4-LiB0ArIe-KinDooBzfc4PE9OJDUjH0/s1600/IMG_8025.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corniglia from above</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rocky part of the trail</td></tr>
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Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-38391331151482342962014-05-02T14:13:00.000+02:002014-05-02T14:13:03.533+02:00Oh Christine, where have you been?I'm not forgetting this blog, pinky swear. But I have a quite a bit on my plate right now, and for a great reason. I got another job!<br />
I'm working with another lovely American gal for her travel planning company here in Italy doing social media and excursions and so forth - it's a little company called <a href="http://www.bellavitaitalia.com/" target="_blank">Bella Vita Italia</a>, and it's great to actually be using my degrees for something slightly more relevant (though with food studies, you can certainly argue that running the Cantina counts).<br />
Beyond that, Rick Steves has been here the past week filming, the 25th is an Italian holiday (Liberation Day), the 1st was Labor Day here and needless to say, I haven't had much blogging time.<br />
But here I am, safe and sound and happily busy :)<br />
Happy May!Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-73874619043288753582014-04-08T02:08:00.001+02:002014-04-08T02:08:56.734+02:00Survey saysIt was a surprisingly busy Monday, but after greeting a table in Thai, explaining the insalata ricca in Spanish, exchanging numbers with a Russian gal living in Florence and laughing with some fantastic Australians in literally less then 20 minutes, I decided to make a list of every table I interacted with today...<div><div>Russia, Thailand, Australia, USA, Canada, France, Germany, Ticino (Switzerland), China, Luxembourg, United Arab Emirates, Chile, Brazil, Sweden, Norway, Finland, Estonia...and on our staff we have a Tunisian girl, a Croatian girl and a Romanian waiter.</div><div>The UN has nothing on us.</div></div>Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-14653169215129399922014-04-06T13:32:00.001+02:002014-04-06T21:49:49.277+02:00A New Season and Old QuestionsI haven't been posting much because I've been running around like a crazy person getting the Cantina open for the season. We opened Thursday, but it's always a bit hectic. Since the flood a few years ago filled our cute little windowless stone restaurant with about 6 feet of water, we have taken to dismantling every single thing (even the oven in the kitchen) and putting them in a garage up the mountain in the event that, God forbid, it should happen again. Though the streets and canals have been cleared, and grates built to help water flow in the case of heavy rain, our water came from the stairs behind the Cantina that lead up to apartments on the mountain above. These stairs are exactly as they were the day of the flood - which means that if it rains that much again, our Cantina will be again full of floating furniture. Better to leave it empty, no?<br>
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So, the night before we opened, we finished setting things up at about 10 pm, and in no mood to even think about cooking dinner, we grabbed a pizza to take home at the place down the hill from our house. There was a table of sweet American girls who, as we were waiting for our pizza, started asking our friend (the owner who also waits tables) about the bill. His face showed a bit of panic as he started explaining the mysterious<i> coperto</i> in his not-so-great English, and he threw me a "save me" sort of look, so for the 5 millionth time in my life here, I explained one of the most frequently asked questions about dining out in Italy. I remembered with a flash this blog entry that has been buzzing around my head for a few years. <br>
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Then, we opened the Cantina on Thursday, and the very first table I waited on paid the check and asked, with a conspiratorial whisper, from "Canadian to American", to explain, <i>really, what the deal was with tipping in Italy</i>, and I was reminded again about the second most common question asked while dining out.<br>
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So, from one former American bartender and waitress who is now doing the same job in Italy, here's the deal.<br>
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The <i>coperto</i> is an old Italian charge you see on almost every bill dining out in Italy (expect at bars, which will usually charge different prices for sit-down service as opposed to standing up and eating and drinking at the bar). <i>Coperto</i> is most usually translated as "cover charge", but I find it better to explain it as "overhead". It's not just paying for the seat or table at the restaurant, it goes towards the napkins, table linens, ketchup packets, olive oil (Italians do not eat bread with olive oil and vinegar before their meal. This is a totally foreigner thing to do, and olive oil costs quite a bit of money, if you think of how many bottles you go through a day because people like to sop it up in their bread), and so forth. I know that in our restaurant, we have a 1 euro <i>coperto</i> that we use to cover all of these things, like dry goods, napkins, and so forth. It might seem a little odd, but many small businesses in Italy are very much struggling to keep themselves afloat with sometimes 47% taxes, and even a euro added a head covers the cost of doing business. The <i>coperto</i> also varies depending on where you go. Places with nice table linens and fancy napkins might charge you as much as 3,50-4 euro a head for the <i>coperto</i>. Less formal places usually charge less, from 1-2,50 euro. Legally, you will find it written on the menu.<br>
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The <i>coperto</i> is also sometimes referred to as<i> pane e coperto</i>, which is that famous "charge for bread" you hear about. This is where it gets tricky. In the region of Lazio (Rome is located in Lazio, to give you an idea), the <i>coperto</i> is illegal. You cannot put it on a check. What they do instead is charge for bread in many cases, which is why you hear stories of travelers waving bread away to avoid an extra 2 euro or so a person on the check. Here in Liguria, as well as in most of the rest of Italy, bread is included in the <i>coperto</i>. So, when you wave away the bread basket here and wink at your friend because you just avoided paying a euro each, all you really did was miss out on yummy fresh bread baked by Manu's uncle down the street. You pay the <i>coperto </i>anyway, whether you eat the bread or not. <br>
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The <i>coperto</i> is not a tip. It does not go to the waiter. It goes directly back to the restaurant. Which is fine because (are you ready for this?)...<br>
<b>you do not need to tip in Italy. </b><br>
Take a deep, American/Canadian/Australian deep breath with me, and let go of your tipping guilt. You don't need to do it. Really. <br>
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We make a monthly wage here in Italy, which is unheard of in the US service industry. In my 11 years bartending and waiting tables in the US, I received a paycheck as a tax formality every week, made out to the sum of "0 dollars and 0 cents". Seriously. <br>
For those in the service industry in Italy, in most cases, your meals are included and depending on where you work, you can make a pretty darn good living waiting tables, especially since the economy here is the pits. Some waiters in fancy places can make up to 2-2,500 euro a month. Not a bad deal.<br>
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In many cities, though, you might see a service charge (<i>servizio</i>) or tip added on to the check, anywhere from 10-15%, which is legal as long as it is stated on the menu, and you have to pay it. However, I have only had this happen when dining out with American friends visiting, where we are happily chatting away in English. Going out with Italians, I have seen service charges written on the menu, but when the check is presented, that charge has always been waived. <br>
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I've also heard waiters tell tables "Service is not included" as they drop off the check, and had it happen as well when out with groups of non-Italian speaking people. You do not have to leave anything if you do not want to. This is, again, people getting used to tourists tipping and overtipping, and shame on those waiters I've seen standing there as a couple pays the check, scrambling for extra euro to leave the waiting man a tip. You don't need to pay anything if it's not written on the menu (and then will be included in your check). When going out to eat, we will usually leave a small tip if it was a nice meal - for example, if the service was good and we had a nice, long dinner, we would leave something like a 5 euro tip on a 150 euro meal. Nothing even close to the 15-20 percent tip expected in the United States.<br>
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So, I hope this helps make a foreign thing a little less foreign for those of you gearing up to visit Italy this summer :)Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-23583752971616007762014-03-10T18:37:00.002+01:002014-03-10T18:58:21.107+01:00You can take the girl out of the city...This week I was fortunate enough to go to both Rome and Florence for various reasons (the Pope and a food festival, TASTE, to be precise). One would have made me more than thrilled, but two cities? In one week? Don't misunderstand me, I love Monterosso. I love the Cinque Terre. It's a dream that I take a picture out of my front door every single day, even though it's always the same view. The city, however, is where I thrive. I'm a fast walker, I'm excellent with a public transit map, and I have a very short attention span. I need a little "city" every so often to recharge my batteries for another few months in my little seaside hamlet.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good morning, Pope Francis</td></tr>
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Since getting back yesterday from Florence, I've spent a great deal of time comparing it with Rome. They are both so ridiculously beautiful and so full of history you think they would just explode, but they are two completely different places with two completely different personalities. I've loved them both for quite a while, but it's hard to pick a favorite. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The duomo, the duomo…Florence<br />View from our room at Granduomo apartments</td></tr>
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Rome to me is a black and white film. It's a woman tucking a mass of curly, inky hair into a glossy helmet before hopping effortlessly on her Vespa in stiletto heels and speeding away, cutting off a taxi at the light. It's a young guy in a slim legged black suit on his cellphone smoking a cigarette under an intricate doorframe, dodging a puddle of an unknown liquid on the cobblestone street. It's the taxi driver that yells back at the pedestrian using the most colorful curses you can imagine. Rome, for me, is getting lost at twilight and winding your way through narrow streets until you reach a clearing and lose your breath at the sight of the Trevi Fountain or Piazza Navona, tucked into this little nook but looming over everything. Rome is a spitfire. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piazza Navona, Roma</td></tr>
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It drips <i>cool</i>. It's artichokes and cacio e pepe and red wine and the shadows the Pantheon makes over a piazza full of people with their jaw dropped, mixed with the smell of strong coffee from Tazza D'oro on the corner. Rome is knowing you are getting off the subway at a stop called Colosseo, and it will be right there in all it's glory, waiting for you just like the last time. It's crowded, it's a little dirty, it's a bit of a mess, but it is, at the end of the day, Rome. And if you are here, who cares?<br />
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Florence, on the other hand, always feels more refined, more posh, more orderly to me. It's a 60 year old woman in a tan pantsuit with a colorful designer scarf tucked over her perfectly styled blonde hair. It's the butcher hacking up a piece of meat in the window, it's the church bells on Sunday, it's the majesty of the Duomo, it's the antique market at Santo Spirito and the line around the block of people waiting, patiently, to see Davide. It's the refinement of a city that's home cuisine is contrastingly the most simple and delicious things you can imagine. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunday market in Santo Spirito, Florence</td></tr>
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It's ribollita, it's a rare Fiorentina steak, it's tripe stands on the street and artigianale gelato. It's the bread I hate made without salt. It's perfect Italian. It's a smoothly raised eyebrow instead of a long string of curses. It's inky red wine poured smoothly into a glass, it's biscotti and sweet vin santo, it's the yellow lights that illuminate the Palazzo Vecchio, where the bonfire of the vanities lit up the same piazza centuries ago. It's the Arno, the Ponte Vecchio, the Japanese tourists snapping pictures and the old grandmothers walking by with their knee length skirts and sensible shoes, pausing to look at the display in the window of Ferragamo. It's a museum next to another museum next to a church that is actually also a museum next to a statue. It's so small that you can walk it in a day but never manage to fully read all of it's story. <br />
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It's impossible to pick a favorite. These two breathtaking places have two different moods, two different characters, and so many different layers I still have to uncover. The most beautiful thing is that you don't have to pick one, or to prefer one over the other, and that everyone meets Rome and Florence as different people, sees another side of them, has totally different experience. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roman Rooftops</td></tr>
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You can take these two beautiful cities as they are, as you find them, and just enjoy the time you have in them. Take a deep breath, a long look, and recharge your batteries.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piazza della repubblica, Florence</td></tr>
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And then go back home to the beach.</div>
Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-10383980467384117252014-02-28T18:07:00.001+01:002014-02-28T18:07:33.740+01:00Winter Camogli<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj79_1zFYuVApDgqWclKd6lRra-YNTtAR7yWCHB_1j439cxcXHTcuHIpZGJE7-cWIEfmFKKgFETjkqx0LBdIK3JF3g773ZXLqxlAsu3aWfPZzmHfoeFIyvyWL7ohVoxZ_RFE2QmkEm7hxY/s640/blogger-image--855351377.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj79_1zFYuVApDgqWclKd6lRra-YNTtAR7yWCHB_1j439cxcXHTcuHIpZGJE7-cWIEfmFKKgFETjkqx0LBdIK3JF3g773ZXLqxlAsu3aWfPZzmHfoeFIyvyWL7ohVoxZ_RFE2QmkEm7hxY/s640/blogger-image--855351377.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7eZHN16bXbGEv0GRtgiuPhisiVoVpejCPBUPwUTFJY8GeZjJFGPMH62gnh2FTKNTsf1k4RmbMhNTtc4vcTwNQ-VBLJ39_7Tw7RvRX9aUerWJUoPpm33bcbqhGzm6fSCvzUmC0GoeEDo/s640/blogger-image-972408848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7eZHN16bXbGEv0GRtgiuPhisiVoVpejCPBUPwUTFJY8GeZjJFGPMH62gnh2FTKNTsf1k4RmbMhNTtc4vcTwNQ-VBLJ39_7Tw7RvRX9aUerWJUoPpm33bcbqhGzm6fSCvzUmC0GoeEDo/s640/blogger-image-972408848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjul1IK8hw0tjNpJhrJn6HqaLmHN-uW05vwoMYC3s6N7RZodANNGNRTwmgBcpDPa1heugTU7qo0cQ1h_LVjVeMxhETSfASDiRAjXcuPiW7-NblY2oeHWxtA_3GB0a1vzD_hzXZq5XWVsnk/s640/blogger-image-484858787.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjul1IK8hw0tjNpJhrJn6HqaLmHN-uW05vwoMYC3s6N7RZodANNGNRTwmgBcpDPa1heugTU7qo0cQ1h_LVjVeMxhETSfASDiRAjXcuPiW7-NblY2oeHWxtA_3GB0a1vzD_hzXZq5XWVsnk/s640/blogger-image-484858787.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div>Life has started to trickle back to the Cinque Terre on warmer days. It's like the visitors are little seeds in the sand that sprout up in a flash as soon as a warm ray of sun touches them. Rainy days, however, are a horse of a different color (funny side note: in Italian, you say "un'altro paio di maniche", which literally means "another pair of sleeves". I love idioms). Villages are quiet, streets empty, the yellow glow of street lamps illuminates a grey sky that hits a grey sea and touches a beach of grey stones and sand. <div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW9E1y1Cu7OUtKxeOpAQznXqxKf_D1ymoWmDFudIsPAn7CVpekantvVzDQD-9J6ZZMcpK96Geq06X0v7L5Z8LYpnxNvJE6bq1Le3wud6aDWulUJy1hQHIIayiXl29AMddIQHyw5Da8gw0/s640/blogger-image-827880849.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW9E1y1Cu7OUtKxeOpAQznXqxKf_D1ymoWmDFudIsPAn7CVpekantvVzDQD-9J6ZZMcpK96Geq06X0v7L5Z8LYpnxNvJE6bq1Le3wud6aDWulUJy1hQHIIayiXl29AMddIQHyw5Da8gw0/s640/blogger-image-827880849.jpg"></a></div>Occasionally, the sun perks through, the clouds spread apart, and you have muted shades of pastel to break up all that grey.<div>We went to Camogli on one of these rainy days, and we arrived right as a few stubborn rays of sun hit my favorite town on the Riviera. The last time I visited the town was the day before the flood that destroyed Monterosso in 2011. I was happy to come back, and even happier to see that the empty fishing village was just as charming painted in muted shades of winter.</div><div>Camogli lies 45 minutes to an hour by train from Monterosso, and is quite close to Genoa. Many say its name derives from "Casa delle moglie" or the "house of the wives", as they dutifully waited here for their Genoese fishermen and boat capitan husbands to return home from the sea.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi03xwf7W4xY3_9iJMCo-kjGlO7MZgbql1mVffQ_hS5Sm2RfNdy257L9Fm7j5oHKND1AlTCh2nTUEz7OEAessLGzHomR-QYzFKtCOzsJ_KJAfl0lT4GNGC58csXZCU4i79mhAywEt3lsD0/s640/blogger-image--2100611766.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi03xwf7W4xY3_9iJMCo-kjGlO7MZgbql1mVffQ_hS5Sm2RfNdy257L9Fm7j5oHKND1AlTCh2nTUEz7OEAessLGzHomR-QYzFKtCOzsJ_KJAfl0lT4GNGC58csXZCU4i79mhAywEt3lsD0/s640/blogger-image--2100611766.jpg"></a></div> Once renowned for its fleet of tall ships, Camogli is also called the city of "a thousand white sails", and though it's painted seafront houses no longer help the fishermen find their way home, the town is still full of boats and in the winter, empty of tourists.</div><div>We walked to the ornate gold church, the old castle, the harbor, and sat on the beach by ourselves while we snacked on the local rum-cream stuffed beignet aptly called <i>camogliesi</i>. </div><div>Portofino hides to the right, but to the left, sprawling in the distance, lies Genoa, <i>La Superba.</i> </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3Wnt5jJ-9WiUEMvWQBk4RKNkWLcCR-Y1Uy95aL05Yf-RJw6WvPEXqkFZ6EyaDeREz5LFFI9O3_3x7oldykHlgmlnXejH9NNnwfd2pElXOp7NzF3cNfIktFRHatjx5N9UyLR0f6MEldk/s640/blogger-image-343783196.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3Wnt5jJ-9WiUEMvWQBk4RKNkWLcCR-Y1Uy95aL05Yf-RJw6WvPEXqkFZ6EyaDeREz5LFFI9O3_3x7oldykHlgmlnXejH9NNnwfd2pElXOp7NzF3cNfIktFRHatjx5N9UyLR0f6MEldk/s640/blogger-image-343783196.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">When you look long enough, a rainy day becomes another opportunity to see things with a new palate of colors, especially on a deserted beach in the shadow of so much history.</span></div></div>Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-58450158260192865012014-02-23T20:04:00.000+01:002014-02-23T20:04:34.510+01:00beach musicA sunny Sunday in Monterosso...small waves rippling over smooth stones...<br />
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<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-30859776643115564492014-02-19T21:32:00.000+01:002014-02-19T21:32:07.337+01:00Another rivieraI've been gone for a while, but for a great reason. Vacation!<br />
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It seems like not "working" for 4 months a year is fantastic. I'm not complaining, but it's not as though we sit around all day napping and eating potato chips. We have a bed and breakfast open all year, apartments we rent out, and two restaurants that require constant attention, even when closed. I write, we organize the mountains of stuff that have accumulated between two restaurants and over 30 years running them. I took a master's course in sustainable tourism. I'm learning french (badly). <br />
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So, it was time for some well overdue beach fun. Though I do work at the beach, it's much different then actually sitting on one all day with a fun coconut drink in hand, so we headed to another riviera - the mexican one.<br />
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We spent 3 weeks traveling around Isla Mujeres, Akumal, Tulum, Playa Del Carmen, Vallodolid and Cozumel. After many margaritas, 45 avocados, 5 spanish verbs learned, approximately 30 bowls of pico de gallo, 2 bottles of citronella spray and 4 bottles of SPF 30 (reef safe!), we returned home happy and relaxed. I conquered my fear of everything by literally just jumping in feet first and snorkling on a reef with starfish and sea turtles. Dolphins joined our little boat as we were heading to the Sian Ka'an biosphere. It doesn't get much better then that.<br />
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Mexico is really great. One of my best friends is Mexican and I've always felt a warm, fuzzy feeling towards the country. The people are easy to laugh and smile, and believe it or not, better then Italians at sitting silently for long periods of time in places like the piazza or a shady bench. I love the food, I love the colors, I love the music, the fun painted skulls, and the beautiful, dark eyed kids with honey skin and silky black hair who whisper a shy <i>hola</i>. I even love how they put their punctuation at the front of the sentence so you can figure out the point of the whole thing at the get-go. I love how the language flows alongside Italian, I love scooping up rice in tortillas, I love carnitas and pacifico and clearly run-on sentences, but I think you've gotten the idea.<br />
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Here are some of my favorite pictures from one of my favorite countries...<br />
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<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-8987894168278705242014-01-13T11:46:00.001+01:002014-01-13T11:46:16.503+01:00Creamy, delicious, silky smooth...fat?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsbUCjlTyZQl8DZggNl2RBH92-0Ji4mLXwT9uSSQsmwDoqCYKYZWAcEA_qTgxqWC7x5ltov5RQ2ZnjyuG1hekAN0eZpoWhuFPzDIKlFR7BP0vy4OCh92o7xHSczOU6iSta91b8F2QNvqQ/s1600/Screen+shot+2014-01-13+at+11.39.43+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsbUCjlTyZQl8DZggNl2RBH92-0Ji4mLXwT9uSSQsmwDoqCYKYZWAcEA_qTgxqWC7x5ltov5RQ2ZnjyuG1hekAN0eZpoWhuFPzDIKlFR7BP0vy4OCh92o7xHSczOU6iSta91b8F2QNvqQ/s320/Screen+shot+2014-01-13+at+11.39.43+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lardo, in all of it's fatty glory</td></tr>
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Let's talk <i>lardo</i>.<br />
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There are few things in this world more decadent then eating thinly sliced, white ribbons of cured fatback on a piece of warm bread. The fat melts slowly over the bread, turning into glossy, opaque slivers of deliciousness that have notes of rosemary, herbs and sometimes cinnamon. A foodie dream or a cardiologist nightmare? You can argue both sides, but a recent trip to the ancient mountain village of Colonnata, the home of the most famous lardo in Italy, <i>lardo di Colonnata,</i> meant that lardo would be consumed in large amounts. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHqn08FjWkaQDv6HRzpZxrJk6Ox7qkLdg_8ZnLUoycqVT0Dj6fAGRvZOHsqkIk_m_zKpvTSxA8lcz1TOWnitn8ztnLgiqjsTJvfsgbpg5gKx-b1sMhMwB_uANC-R6jkYk63BFGKi7Obs/s1600/Screen+shot+2014-01-13+at+11.39.50+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHqn08FjWkaQDv6HRzpZxrJk6Ox7qkLdg_8ZnLUoycqVT0Dj6fAGRvZOHsqkIk_m_zKpvTSxA8lcz1TOWnitn8ztnLgiqjsTJvfsgbpg5gKx-b1sMhMwB_uANC-R6jkYk63BFGKi7Obs/s320/Screen+shot+2014-01-13+at+11.39.50+AM.png" width="240" /></a><i>Lardo</i> is one of the most unique Tuscan salumi that I've encountered. A few years ago when studying abroad here, I remember looking at the slices of lardo atop the salt less bread typical here in Tuscany with a raised eyebrow. Already counting the kilos I had been packing on studying food in Tuscany, I was more then a little dubious, but the food student in me couldn't resist the IGP protected product with a history that goes back for centuries.<br />
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After my first bite, I was hooked. It quite literally melts in your mouth, covering your tongue with smooth fat and spices. <i>Lardo</i> is made of cured pork fatback, using salt, herbs, including rosemary, and spices, like cinnamon. In little Colonnata, the winding streets that run alongside the sharp white marble mountains of Carrara are filled with one <i>larderia</i>, where you cure and sell the famous star of Colonnata, after another. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnx0tixJahhOcrw9wzT0b9ofEoe1kCxrGIGMmKDjr-CMSn2-CSzyN4f0dj_dZw1WbR8MsCzJGoNliKxxlFU4R5O443DlS0gNTuxrfoSXMuKF5YoNiJpp7DyJ0H2vJ7PcCciYkMdwhxMe0/s320/Screen+shot+2014-01-13+at+11.40.43+AM.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="226" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marble </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqF-q7duSQvBzHCRIzrcIu3NuAsdZN95TZ7T4kHF6Vf-pmjRkLmE2QX_9ZsGf3bRTZ1QyPIsiIKFan19kql0d4HeJY6fryawd8om1JJnj1DkTLX2xD9DoP8_esKL543NeNWtW0MDIB_I/s1600/Screen+shot+2014-01-13+at+11.40.17+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqF-q7duSQvBzHCRIzrcIu3NuAsdZN95TZ7T4kHF6Vf-pmjRkLmE2QX_9ZsGf3bRTZ1QyPIsiIKFan19kql0d4HeJY6fryawd8om1JJnj1DkTLX2xD9DoP8_esKL543NeNWtW0MDIB_I/s320/Screen+shot+2014-01-13+at+11.40.17+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">one larderia of many</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8RqpcHB2rhNvWuVEG5eBIDdCGk9sWo9Gl5NIWnror73TF5ZAfkp6x2o2izTfxkH9b7Ee9eNlwbe2GPOVVkMyKL5HosLQefZ0SjMT3_7unz9rQ3ro3qAgbrzjcVBRQnFgDxk122wJAfOE/s1600/Screen+shot+2014-01-13+at+11.41.08+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8RqpcHB2rhNvWuVEG5eBIDdCGk9sWo9Gl5NIWnror73TF5ZAfkp6x2o2izTfxkH9b7Ee9eNlwbe2GPOVVkMyKL5HosLQefZ0SjMT3_7unz9rQ3ro3qAgbrzjcVBRQnFgDxk122wJAfOE/s320/Screen+shot+2014-01-13+at+11.41.08+AM.png" width="232" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where the magic happens</td></tr>
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We sat down to a lunch of mixed antipasti, which obviously included lardo, and then a grilled steak covered in the silky white slices of fat melting over the meat. It was decadent and delicious, and I couldn't help but think about all of the people in the world on a diet after the New Year. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnnfQeHC3v_p4xmONm2FLEsjuOYXpFo2KrQomquIiI3S_S0QI-j3iI3UQWtljE0VCuVXufAhWRBuSjbZYSkbQzb0weLtjFzh09BamBsaR_P3swFeyY56GY8Lvw4UuVgCMYKazOcsQUbpU/s1600/Screen+shot+2014-01-13+at+11.41.20+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnnfQeHC3v_p4xmONm2FLEsjuOYXpFo2KrQomquIiI3S_S0QI-j3iI3UQWtljE0VCuVXufAhWRBuSjbZYSkbQzb0weLtjFzh09BamBsaR_P3swFeyY56GY8Lvw4UuVgCMYKazOcsQUbpU/s320/Screen+shot+2014-01-13+at+11.41.20+AM.png" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to bring home!</td></tr>
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Fortunately, Colonnata has a lovely little piazza and some tiny alleys to wander down as you attempt to burn off all of the lardo consumed. Making left turns and right turns absentmindedly, we ran into an older gentleman in front of his <i>larderia</i> who offered to bring us into his little production facility and show us how it is done. Being next to mountains made of marble, it isn't surprising that the village seems to be made of the stone, and that <i>lardo di Colonnata</i> needs to be preserved in huge, white marble vats, that keep it's moisture and humidity at a specific level that give it it's unique taste and texture. He explained to us that spices ranging from coriander to cloves are used, and that the lardo has to have a certain percentage of cholesterol not higher then that of other white meats. I'm dubious on this last totally unsupported fact, but it did make me feel a little better after lunch. And looking at all these happy elderly people in the center of the lardo universe made me feel even better as no one around me seemed to be keeling over due to eating too much lardo. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZbKTykeb2rClzlsjxIrmVcqrJ0iI7pgZxsyHn4SQG3O4PmPiFP3NYlCe8foqTdpi4JRML8lSd7OUw8redOPtqXB1pIlMGhWTr8FqQICzoDi5cPZ6KWaxRkUUgPXeO4V3QWIDgOzg1D34/s1600/Screen+shot+2014-01-13+at+11.42.12+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZbKTykeb2rClzlsjxIrmVcqrJ0iI7pgZxsyHn4SQG3O4PmPiFP3NYlCe8foqTdpi4JRML8lSd7OUw8redOPtqXB1pIlMGhWTr8FqQICzoDi5cPZ6KWaxRkUUgPXeO4V3QWIDgOzg1D34/s320/Screen+shot+2014-01-13+at+11.42.12+AM.png" width="209" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everything is made of marble!</td></tr>
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Aside from cured pork fat consumption, Colonnata is a really charming small village. Much like arriving in the Cinque Terre, the road driving up the mountain is a bit of an adventure as you wind up and down a one lane road littered with marble dust and large chunks acting like road barriers on the side. In the spring and summer, tours can be arraigned to visit the marble caves that have been supplying the precious material to the world from ancient Roman times. Nestled in the Apuan Alps, looking down over the marble sea of mountains, it definitely worth a trip - but come with an empty stomach.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-61241089935934327092014-01-02T12:30:00.000+01:002014-01-02T12:30:16.444+01:00Back to the mountains AKA conquering your fears AKA Happy New Year!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN8d9slwJaW0RpmV5QwgC5k1ZzVimUq6MectB67Qy2krbNGJoD_QsFTqtMghzQLSZ0mWp9fYBKDk4vu3gK9x6zZgs78kC8nNN9_FnoUu-qkco2QZQQC1jQ7tzUCpgsdj1rEO5SaDrpF6A/s1600/image-12.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN8d9slwJaW0RpmV5QwgC5k1ZzVimUq6MectB67Qy2krbNGJoD_QsFTqtMghzQLSZ0mWp9fYBKDk4vu3gK9x6zZgs78kC8nNN9_FnoUu-qkco2QZQQC1jQ7tzUCpgsdj1rEO5SaDrpF6A/s320/image-12.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtM4MJfZs0Ltb_lv3MYPSiCvaQc59fAVg5WHfmKpIQWETGPQN8nWMTBayn4sjmpfla0kGXmIfkjRDGl8gEUc53CcZ6Zg8SzEx4Tp79fsFI469xLSxBoc-ijFu19IgSKLiIo7vHVw44TUA/s1600/image-4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtM4MJfZs0Ltb_lv3MYPSiCvaQc59fAVg5WHfmKpIQWETGPQN8nWMTBayn4sjmpfla0kGXmIfkjRDGl8gEUc53CcZ6Zg8SzEx4Tp79fsFI469xLSxBoc-ijFu19IgSKLiIo7vHVw44TUA/s320/image-4.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
There was nothing really exciting going on here in the Cinque Terre for New Year's Eve, and when a cousin of Manuel and her boyfriend generously invited us up to the mountains to celebrate with them in his beautiful little home in the snow, I happily agreed. I wasn't even thinking twice about returning to the village where, less then a year ago, I left in an ambulance with a fractured spine which left me completely immobile for weeks, and in a brace for months. It never even crossed my mind, until we started sharing our New Year's Eve plans with everyone, and I started registering the incredulous looks. Then I started to get a little nervous. My wonderful doctor told me that, unfortunately, in these kind of injuries, it becomes much easier to re-fracture a bone that has already been broken. Another fall, even a little one, could leave me in worse shape then before. When people started asking me if I was sure I really wanted to return to where I fell, I wasn't even thinking about not going. It's not Moena's fault, or even then snowboard's. It was just a freak, weird fall that could have happened getting out of the subway in New York on an icy day. You get over it.<br />
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In addition, there was one big factor at play. I love Trentino. I really do.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTreOFjzj7uThm0tm3NKrNokWQBtQKd59ZWSFIz1HQgZmHj5X-EFJve0icqxIT8vmElmPsc24Zpkk0gezfk9Qhx7rYlbDxg97n9GUNV2Pf7TeDq0HUXm3F7q1Lk6BCTd0s8gSIX0Nwwm4/s1600/image-10.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTreOFjzj7uThm0tm3NKrNokWQBtQKd59ZWSFIz1HQgZmHj5X-EFJve0icqxIT8vmElmPsc24Zpkk0gezfk9Qhx7rYlbDxg97n9GUNV2Pf7TeDq0HUXm3F7q1Lk6BCTd0s8gSIX0Nwwm4/s320/image-10.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apple juice and beer at the Cima Uomo peak at San Pellegrino</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYDdX3xNhjz6QxxqXcGhr6rOCJOZQXQ3hBAoYffb7N5erTKnKArEs8WdyJjALeT1gQiWXtBWIKJpyC2uAvChSFWkxlWNA-9kjUaEyiVm7JA6dKD1ukH4eRgOgJ1AS2ANhpMMq6W-6Jmt0/s1600/image-11.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYDdX3xNhjz6QxxqXcGhr6rOCJOZQXQ3hBAoYffb7N5erTKnKArEs8WdyJjALeT1gQiWXtBWIKJpyC2uAvChSFWkxlWNA-9kjUaEyiVm7JA6dKD1ukH4eRgOgJ1AS2ANhpMMq6W-6Jmt0/s320/image-11.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The village of Moena</td></tr>
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Trentino-Alto Adige is the last region of Italy in the north before you hit Austria, and in some places, it's a little controversial still. It was part of Austria until 1919, and granted <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Regions_of_Italy#Autonomous_regions_with_special_statute" target="_blank">autonomy by Italy</a> in 1948. One of the reasons autonomy is given is to preserve the unique cultural heritage of these regions, Trentino being a great example of one. In many parts of the region, German is the native language spoken, and street signs are written in both German and Italian. Other languages include Ladin, which is not a dialect but a completely different language that over 75% of the town we stayed in, Moena, claims as their mother tongue. It's incredibly fascinating being in an area that is so full of history and culture, and another reminder of the fact that Italy, as a unified country, is pretty young. The differences from region to region are astounding, as Trentino is arguably one of the most dramatic examples of a region full of it's own character and happily holding on to it's culture. I love the accents of the people here. I love the food, and think it's funny that the New York-German-Jewish-Deli food that I miss so much I can almost find here. Goulash is one of my favorites, and in Canederli (minus the pork) I see a little bit of Matzah ball soup. I love the stands of apple vendors on the street. I love hot mulled wine, smoked speck, and even the really stinky cheese aptly named <i>puzzone, </i>which means, as you can guess "really smelly". The scenery is, quite literally, breathtaking. For example, at the San Pellegrino pass, we were over 2000 meters above sea level. You are on top of the world, looking down at glittering snow. It's a sunny, white, sparkling dream - though I do wish it was closer. It's a solid 6 hours in the car from Monterosso.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOda25MoNpkLTADFAQNHFzfX77xzUSIPnVNc8_HClc-EdWZEFxNUKtG-MnQ2Y97-8kEa1sDsTKqXcBL89znXC0wtBUQtuGxo1UUHEzpEUIClaQ3M2Dt87ndyi6OqDRxmGmFHsTQQ3qFdQ/s1600/image-8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOda25MoNpkLTADFAQNHFzfX77xzUSIPnVNc8_HClc-EdWZEFxNUKtG-MnQ2Y97-8kEa1sDsTKqXcBL89znXC0wtBUQtuGxo1UUHEzpEUIClaQ3M2Dt87ndyi6OqDRxmGmFHsTQQ3qFdQ/s320/image-8.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the way to Passo Rolle</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqfl-CUwyFsfYTHgHJQqquUweAD9iCXxrOvZq8ofv_EG_RldYwFJ-jqnqYMKhVkXUSAFWVedQ95-AAOm422fkCQZBp5aYeXRCuVDj8MUQACb1SHatrM4wMcdD2RfPURzVwwrUrMa4DpiA/s1600/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqfl-CUwyFsfYTHgHJQqquUweAD9iCXxrOvZq8ofv_EG_RldYwFJ-jqnqYMKhVkXUSAFWVedQ95-AAOm422fkCQZBp5aYeXRCuVDj8MUQACb1SHatrM4wMcdD2RfPURzVwwrUrMa4DpiA/s320/image.jpeg" width="320" /></a>New Year's Eve was great, as I was able to return to an area of Italy that I enjoy, and show everyone that you can't be scared of freak accidents. And, most importantly, I rang in 2014 with a close group of friends in a beautiful winter wonderland.<br />
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Happy New Year e Buon Anno a tutti!<br />
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Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-34079824027114440272013-12-20T19:35:00.001+01:002013-12-20T19:35:41.045+01:00Christmas vacationChristmas vacations are a big thing here in Italy. Before the long holiday stretch, people get away for a few days to the city, a long weekend in a quieter beach town, an even longer trip to get that pre-Christmas tan going (some Italian stereotypes do hold true) and thanks to Ryanair, flood the Pisa airport to flee Italy at a plane ticket that costs less then the train (literally- round trip Pisa to Charleroi cost, for 2, 160 euro and was about a 2 hour flight where the train from Monterosso to Venice cost us about 130 euro just ONE WAY and took us 6 hours). <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifpmXQ9cPx_6S0gAS1p-W-r5DXEM9MHzwn9ourXhtZTRYseqHpPbeFtmMUHHLF_Zu6NklQ9hHpGDZEKPwY3iHUiz4PQbPl-itZT606WeTbrJmyuOF4t5b-0ZMQ109D2E_5wfkhoE1KCvg/s640/blogger-image--582099112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifpmXQ9cPx_6S0gAS1p-W-r5DXEM9MHzwn9ourXhtZTRYseqHpPbeFtmMUHHLF_Zu6NklQ9hHpGDZEKPwY3iHUiz4PQbPl-itZT606WeTbrJmyuOF4t5b-0ZMQ109D2E_5wfkhoE1KCvg/s640/blogger-image--582099112.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div><div>As you've probably already guessed, we joined them. </div><div><br><div>I've been wanting to go to Belgium for a long time, and I'd be lying if I said beer did not play a part in it. however, beyond their famous beers, I always found myself chuckling inwardly when thinking that one of the most famous statues in the country is of a little naked boy peeing. I immediately assumed they were quirky people with a strange sense of humor, and I loved it.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN5GIaVzxgGrZLaRayG7vMQie-_UUVCrPbd74NCnH_im-PC7DHhkocDEG2ss4H4eUjICTkTzjGN0mskp391_7mndkt-juTv-MoVrOxaaUkBRj9OPrviigWH8JCI4qNzBi-1DR0uBRjcaY/s640/blogger-image-2138511473.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN5GIaVzxgGrZLaRayG7vMQie-_UUVCrPbd74NCnH_im-PC7DHhkocDEG2ss4H4eUjICTkTzjGN0mskp391_7mndkt-juTv-MoVrOxaaUkBRj9OPrviigWH8JCI4qNzBi-1DR0uBRjcaY/s640/blogger-image-2138511473.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>I haven't actually travelled around Europe much since moving here, which is something I nag poor Manuel about frequently. When we turn on a travel show, I look at him, ready to open my mouth in a suggestion that we put this destination "x" on our list (and really, I've probably put about 98% of the globe on my list, including the island nation of Kiribati), he covers his ears and starts singing. I've gotten a little insufferable about it, and we agreed on a quick trip before the holidays. After our great time in Venice, we decided to keep our canal theme going, and headed off to Bruges, the "Venice of the North" and Brussels for a gorgeous 6 days.</div><div><br></div><div>Now, Belgium has nothing to do with Liguria, or life in Liguria, or even life in Italy, which should be the theme of this blog, but let's just go with it, shall we?</div><div><br></div><div>Bruges was highly recommended to us over Brussels, and I honestly don't like picking sides in which city is better then the others (except in discussions about New York or Rome, because they just are actually better then the others), but Bruges was really quite magical. It's not exactly like Venice, as they only have a few canals, and have cars, and streets, and so forth, but still a very special place. Bruges is full of colorful facades with stepped gables, brick orange rooves falling in neat little lines, one after the other, leading up to the occasional heavily adorned cathedral looming over the little city, keeping an eye on the nearby windmills. We loved the people, the lilting dutch, the amazing beers, the Christmas feel- here in Monterosso, it never really feels like Christmas is coming. There is just something about looking at an oceanside palm tree that simply does not convince me we are in December. In Bruges, there are a few large markets adorned with lights, ice skating rinks, the smell of fresh pine and hot mulled wine, ringing bells and carolers...low lights illuminating intricately carved church fronts in a charmingly eerie way...it just seems much more like a place that Santa would approve of. Brussels has an even bigger market that stretches for almost 2 kilometers, leading you through the winding streets to the breathtaking Grand Place, which a photo cannot do justice to. Full of French speakers, Brussels is a huge city, and the capital of Europe. It feels like a different country the Bruges, but the city feel and diversity of such an important European capital made me feel right at home.</div><div><br></div><div>Six days seemed like a long time, but it really just cracked the surface. I really like Beglian people maybe even more then their beer, and we ate very well. Belgium is literally littered with Michelin stars and forks. I'd go back in a heartbeat, especially considering how easy it is to get to. But for now, a Leffe Christmas beer, some chocolates, and some abbey cheese (note: Belgian monks really have a great thing going) will bring me back as we get ready for Christmas, and maybe bring me a little Belgian Christmas here at my beachside home.</div></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPsE7bRTRHN-2VkDBhxjThy6ieigW8Kc0yNK6oCuZ9JmKacFsFZcN8Y98o2kpGv2djMTpufiFbMsv1oCQk0NlRs2p0LQndPcv1Sl0igJDNBBAAtM0VXbpiCr1JLOkiDpF2wOu2TRK0Oiw/s640/blogger-image-1832798479.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPsE7bRTRHN-2VkDBhxjThy6ieigW8Kc0yNK6oCuZ9JmKacFsFZcN8Y98o2kpGv2djMTpufiFbMsv1oCQk0NlRs2p0LQndPcv1Sl0igJDNBBAAtM0VXbpiCr1JLOkiDpF2wOu2TRK0Oiw/s640/blogger-image-1832798479.jpg"></a></div>Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-84211798860013543292013-12-10T12:45:00.001+01:002013-12-10T12:45:17.516+01:00Christmas kumquatsYou know you live on the Mediterranean coast when your kumquat tree doubles up as a Christmas decoration...<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj69HBKaAOHG7bdgo0S6ICZK3ILdPFYEPI79TcV3_AlB1YcIUeNeVP7bHtVJzFlW6K3kObVoNuRB6Prnbw34Dbi3U0GFfK1RKjraTSbNT8ZFtbJbaKG_K2BlTJ61yC-sD2NodEcj1Zhp_A/s640/blogger-image-832952384.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj69HBKaAOHG7bdgo0S6ICZK3ILdPFYEPI79TcV3_AlB1YcIUeNeVP7bHtVJzFlW6K3kObVoNuRB6Prnbw34Dbi3U0GFfK1RKjraTSbNT8ZFtbJbaKG_K2BlTJ61yC-sD2NodEcj1Zhp_A/s640/blogger-image-832952384.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-52514282416695666802013-12-03T12:02:00.003+01:002013-12-03T12:07:30.511+01:00Things to be thankful for<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWg5VuDWCQSZgmEzZE63WCcwyLp5e-ifzNUHzi4LDLcb38O2pqNo4qanN9zfhsuzEnG02LlX6E9dDbR7I7lsRnirc-3gm7F_-O8tVhAAxwuWMYAurKTFJGbCgh1N0lOW0Y8i7pVyNdQ1o/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.49.04+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWg5VuDWCQSZgmEzZE63WCcwyLp5e-ifzNUHzi4LDLcb38O2pqNo4qanN9zfhsuzEnG02LlX6E9dDbR7I7lsRnirc-3gm7F_-O8tVhAAxwuWMYAurKTFJGbCgh1N0lOW0Y8i7pVyNdQ1o/s320/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.49.04+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View looking down over the other parts of Liguria from trail 1</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjof9QhrjhRdvM7pAyrTsBdjVWKkrMBEJKIWMlbAakJP6UNZ9Vum_olM5WRN3J1uEA3JFsQ-EKzYZT7aPpZJHK4ELx_pitEqSGlnyjfFQrJDhXEaqGaFM8YWz8b-kbA9xrPmlk_YWsvltA/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.48.28+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjof9QhrjhRdvM7pAyrTsBdjVWKkrMBEJKIWMlbAakJP6UNZ9Vum_olM5WRN3J1uEA3JFsQ-EKzYZT7aPpZJHK4ELx_pitEqSGlnyjfFQrJDhXEaqGaFM8YWz8b-kbA9xrPmlk_YWsvltA/s320/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.48.28+AM.png" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanksgiving table!<br />
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Thanksgiving in Italy is a tough one. <br />
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Most people I've talked to seem to be confused between the 4th of July and Thanksgiving. It usually goes something like, "Oh, Thanksgiving, is that the day you barbeque a turkey? On the first Monday in December?" which means that I give them partial points for getting some of the holiday traditions right. Regardless, it's an anomoly here, which means it's up to us American ex-pats and our patient male companions to whip up a Thanksgiving for any Americans around longing for a turkey bigger than our tiny European oven.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5uMi8Fj4QDKEfhk-Ha9hX7gxhO0e0lTUr9HFMLteNTiW5apIdBcPBQt1iFdouuvAC-7z9ViNLWpuqRF9dlkuZqIdQUPBa_x9vYZQYkUPyEuHfR-hqEPyb98McCj0rhRl219chrYQBwIo/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.49.20+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5uMi8Fj4QDKEfhk-Ha9hX7gxhO0e0lTUr9HFMLteNTiW5apIdBcPBQt1iFdouuvAC-7z9ViNLWpuqRF9dlkuZqIdQUPBa_x9vYZQYkUPyEuHfR-hqEPyb98McCj0rhRl219chrYQBwIo/s320/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.49.20+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More sun and sea from trail 1</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplfnkNxfWjUl7M1qjEreVGnXpRAIhE2D9-rEvAzk_sCV_XCvtQbAkNY5wk6e63M9_UWwVUHGYyypU-OMHvYgHvoRy-IDp7BMlfusEDpR2caXLahaSEAaIep4PNNDb4Ne9rlsduUH0VVI/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.49.28+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplfnkNxfWjUl7M1qjEreVGnXpRAIhE2D9-rEvAzk_sCV_XCvtQbAkNY5wk6e63M9_UWwVUHGYyypU-OMHvYgHvoRy-IDp7BMlfusEDpR2caXLahaSEAaIep4PNNDb4Ne9rlsduUH0VVI/s320/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.49.28+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From trail 1 we reconnected with the paved street<br />
with sweeping views above the other villages</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP2d5JFxSFM_VUIve-ZCHpkIiFFcsri8aMtJk7S6eYjL-HInMbOljSmfRiL02QzeDDX-5_A8XHiyv7_HhWSncbDy4SGdcvRW62UHVsj_oDm4BFeR399rVvIdZPAi0zM-sSbb1y3w7QsTM/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.49.41+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP2d5JFxSFM_VUIve-ZCHpkIiFFcsri8aMtJk7S6eYjL-HInMbOljSmfRiL02QzeDDX-5_A8XHiyv7_HhWSncbDy4SGdcvRW62UHVsj_oDm4BFeR399rVvIdZPAi0zM-sSbb1y3w7QsTM/s320/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.49.41+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The snow covered mountains of the Ligurian Alps in the distance</td></tr>
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Winter in the Cinque Terre can be long. I mean, <i>loooooong</i>. Stores close, restaurants shut down, and the village empties back out to it's booming population of around 600 in the winter. And that's just Monterosso. We're the biggest, so just imagine how it is in the other 4 villages that make up the National Park. Thanksgiving was just what we needed to break up the monotony of November. <br />
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We actually did a great job, if I do say so myself. A trip to the "American" supermarket in Pisa meant that canned pumpkin, pecans, a Butterball turkey and sweet potatoes made their required appearences on the table. We ate pumpkin pie, pecan pie, mom's cheesecake (thanks again, mom, it was amazing), cornbread stuffing, gravy, cranberry sauce still comfortingly shaped like the metal can it came in, and all the other dishes that mean home. Even some that don't - I've never had a green bean casserole with fried onions before (and I do not think I will again, but that's just a personal preference). <br />
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And, fortunately, the winter quiet in the region means that the hiking trails were totally empty to burn off all of the calories.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrRWn3dJ2yCLzpIHbQJrTV-fIkNiUJuVKHh0lULSgSMnn6Pbr9AfVdlU5UaUCXyk1Z2W1GYFWqJiuYGZBv28oLUmvllrWGRc902awghp3Wmbp5dtKoB7HRWb6ZDkfWGeUeohyphenhyphenFY3YsQ0/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.50.49+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrRWn3dJ2yCLzpIHbQJrTV-fIkNiUJuVKHh0lULSgSMnn6Pbr9AfVdlU5UaUCXyk1Z2W1GYFWqJiuYGZBv28oLUmvllrWGRc902awghp3Wmbp5dtKoB7HRWb6ZDkfWGeUeohyphenhyphenFY3YsQ0/s320/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.50.49+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flat, wide, paved - now we are speaking my language. And Monterosso peeking out from below...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9TUXYpowtc-8eE6ZiRlwPLxq5Wc0v-zUdJvn_T7UGuzvGFItZVx8uAUvEDngUqg4ntumErs2LhlaLEDgSkIL2irFo2asyeZZcXI6IBBbkX1WuRmymYk0AMLM4pHM_jpFWYSjdwMeS6IM/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.51.12+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9TUXYpowtc-8eE6ZiRlwPLxq5Wc0v-zUdJvn_T7UGuzvGFItZVx8uAUvEDngUqg4ntumErs2LhlaLEDgSkIL2irFo2asyeZZcXI6IBBbkX1WuRmymYk0AMLM4pHM_jpFWYSjdwMeS6IM/s320/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.51.12+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Santa Croce on trail 1<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Through the woods, up the mountain</td></tr>
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We hiked <a href="http://www.parconazionale5terre.it/sentieri_dett.asp?id_lingue=1&id_prodotto=4" target="_blank">trail 1</a> up to Santa Croce, a little (mostly deserted) one room chapel on a mountain overlooking the whole coast of the Italian Riviera. Liguria's long and skinny boomerang shape means that from the far east, on a clear day, you can see the west coast which connects to France, lined with sloping hills and mountains over the still sea, and in the distance behind you, the snowy peaks of the Apennine mountains looming over the other border where Liguria meets it's neighbor, Tuscany (and, coincidentally, another <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Appennino_Tosco-Emiliano_National_Park" target="_blank">national park</a>). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBhE6BdLl_w08o56t6g3FW1tRSH-OCqjyp4HO0DcoRDfLo6l8qw1k-L48Xjl4RwYy2crv0EULqRJmJkMIkorok27juhZEl33WMOslUPR-DbxnFEY28RqzKQFDaYpiUohyp8QXVz9jqTLc/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.50.09+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBhE6BdLl_w08o56t6g3FW1tRSH-OCqjyp4HO0DcoRDfLo6l8qw1k-L48Xjl4RwYy2crv0EULqRJmJkMIkorok27juhZEl33WMOslUPR-DbxnFEY28RqzKQFDaYpiUohyp8QXVz9jqTLc/s320/Screen+shot+2013-12-03+at+11.50.09+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corbezzoli, or strawberry tree fruit</td></tr>
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Trail 1 is the perfect example of why it is frustrating when people complain that they came all this way to hike, and the trails were all closed. It's easy to do in parts, like we did, picking up the trail then following the paved road back down. It's wide, it's well marked, and it offers incredible views. Trail 2, the coastal trail from Monterosso-Riomaggiore, with stops in each village, has had parts of it closed on and off for some years now (right now, the Via Dell'Amore between Riomaggiore and Manarola is closed, as is the portion from Manarola to Corniglia), but there are almost 30 other trails you can take to hike and explore the region on foot. Walking through the woods, with the remainders of chestnut season underfoot, crunching through dried leaves and evergreens, you are again reminded how Liguria is a combination of the mountains as well as the sea - the forest as well as the beach. We discovered little corbezzolo berries (in english, the shrub is called the "strawberry tree", though I thought they tasted more like raspberries) and munched on their red, wild fruits while hiking the wide trail up to the chapel on a beautiful, crisp winter day with not another soul in sight.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scary part on trail 2 from Monterosso-Vernazza. There were more narrow ones,<br />
but I was too scared to let go of the wall and take a picture.</td></tr>
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Even trail 2, from Monterosso to Vernazza, usually the most crowded of the trails during tourist season, was totally empty. We encountered only 4 other people on our 1.5 hour hike, which was fine by me. Parts of the trail are very, very narrow with room really for only one person to pass, and hanging on the side of a mountain trying to maneuver this with groups of people coming from both sides would not be my idea of a good time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The most famous shot from trail 2 arriving in our neighbor, Vernazza. Worth the anxiety!</td></tr>
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When it seems like the winter days can be too long, it's easy for me to start grumbling that there is never anything to do - but these are actually the best days. When you catch that first crisp, perfect day of the winter in the sun, looking down over the villages scattered below, squinting in the light that flickers off a sea that goes on forever, it's a great reminder to take a deep breath, smile, and give thanks.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-61925342934836977472013-12-01T20:09:00.001+01:002013-12-01T23:31:22.703+01:00Tonight's sunset in levanto<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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No instagram, no retouching...just the not-so-far-off coast of France in the distance...</div>
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...and a fisherman with a priceless view.<br />
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Happy December!</div>
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Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-24728100367807583622013-11-20T07:45:00.001+01:002013-11-21T19:30:22.394+01:00Be a good tourist and get drinking!The past week I've been attending an advanced course on sustainable tourism in the Cinque Terre, which is being held on top of the hill in Vernazza, run through Vivilitalia and the Alta Scuola Turismo Ambience. It's an intense, heavy course full of information with some more information scattered on top for good measure, so my brain is normally throbbing in Italian by about 3 pm. Despite the headache of intense Italian, it's been incredibly interesting.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rainbow over the hills of Vernazza</td></tr>
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We live in a national park and a UNESCO world heritage site, and an incredibly fragile one at that. As one of our guest speakers noted, the Cinque Terre is one of the few national parks that relies on man to keep it alive. Whereas other parks are simply nature, untouched, at its pure finest, the Cinque Terre relies on the terracing systems of the vineyards that stretch on the hills between the villages. Manmakes these terraces, so it's a very delicate, very beautiful, and very important balance between man working with nature rather than against it.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View over Vernazza from the vineyards of Cheo</td></tr>
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One of the main points we've discussed is the importance of sourcing products at "kilometer 0", or, in other words, eating local. As local as you can get. All of this eating local is integral to creating and promoting sustainable and responsible tourism, but you need to wash it down with something. </div>
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One cannot come here and avoid wine. Even if it's not in a glass in front of you, it's neatly covering the hills sloping down into the villages, in even little rows held up by ancient stone walls. These wine terraces, they say, if put back to back, are as long as the Great Wall of China. That's pretty long. And they don't make wine on the Great Wall, so I'd say we win.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Cheo himself giving us a talk on their wines</td></tr>
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Without going into too much wine detail, as I'm not a sommelier and don't pretend to be, the wine here is mostly white, and has to be a blend of grapes including Bosco, Vermentino and Albarola. It's on the drier side, and was never, in all honesty, to my taste until this year. Manuel's mom explained once that you can certainly find more prestigious white wines in Italy, more award winners, but you will never find a wine that is made with these centuries of hard, back breaking work carrying the grapes up and down these terraces mountains that loom over us. There is a great story and a great determination in these wines and the Ligurians who have been making them for centuries. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking over the dry stone wall terraces that lace the region</td></tr>
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After pondering this, the next glass I drank took on a new meaning. Even more so when I realized that the land depends on these terraces to keep it stable. The great majority of villagers are no longer relying on farming and fishing to make a living, the many small, usually family run wine producers in the region are doing more then providing us with something to drink- they are helping keep that delicate, crucial balance between man and nature.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many walls up close</td></tr>
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Today we hiked up small, slippery stone steps to the vineyards of Cheo, a small producer in Vernazza that was all but destroyed in the flood. The husband and wife team were able to rebuild, with help from other wine producers in the region who came right over and helped them the laborious work of reconstructing the dry stone walls that create the terraces that compose the vineyards on the mountains. They are incredibly lovely people, which is even nicer to know, as their wine is one of my favorites in the Cinque Terre. The grapes that grow in the summer sun over the Ligurian sea, with the colorful little village of Vernazza spread out before them, make a beautiful picture. Descending the narrow steps back to the village, however, you are again reminded that what makes a surreal postcard is also an incredibly labor intensive work.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The vines</td></tr>
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Tourists visiting the region can do their part quite easily. Drink up! The majority of the wines here are small producers, and it's critical to the sustainability of the region that their production continues (here in Monterosso, Vetua and Begasti are my favorites, outside, Cheo from Vernazza, La Polenza and Forlini Cappellini are other great ones...). Little did you know that drinking some local wines, watching the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">colors of orange and pink, as the sun kisses the still blue sea, you were perfectly doing your </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">part to help ensure the future of our amazing National Park.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Salute! </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a bad view from the "office" of Cheo</td></tr>
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Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com3Monterosso Al Mare Monterosso Al Mare44.146533 9.645865tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-516572689820338962013-11-02T15:32:00.002+01:002013-11-02T16:33:49.869+01:00I am mad at Venice.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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It's so touristy.</div>
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It's a dying city built on dirty water. It's full of people trying to rip you off. It's too crowded. It's like a theme park.</div>
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You can't eat a good, authentic meal without paying as much as your monthly salary. You can't find a decent place to stay that doesn't cost as much as your monthly rent. It's hard to get around. The locals are really mean and hate tourists. It's just not worth all the hassle.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gondola parking by San Marco</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The little island of Burano, about 45 minutes in vaporetto from "main" Venice</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Venetian water bus view at rush hour. Not a bad for for a commute.</td></tr>
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But I'm mad at Venice because I never went sooner.<br />
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I'm absolutely in love.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rialto Bridge at sunset</td></tr>
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I heard all of the above reasons for avoiding Venice for most of my life. Before moving to Italy, I came here on vacation seven or so times, and somehow managed to always keep Venice out of my travel plans. Put off by accommodation prices and a little intimidated about people's lamentations of bad restaurants, it just did not sound like it was for me. I live in one of the more touristy parts of this country, and have a high tolerance for that sort of mess, but was very apprehensive about throwing myself into that same mess along with them.<br />
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We booked a few days in Venice and as soon as we stepped out of the station, I cried a little (this is not weird, I am one of those people that cries at especially touching phone commercials and sunsets). I was just floored to see a street made of water, a metro stop of boats not busses. <br />
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We got on our little <i>vaporetto</i>, and my ear to ear grin did not stop until we left this incredibly magical city. <i>La Serenissima</i> (one of Venice's many nicknames, meaning "the most serene") is it's a city built not on the water, but actually IN it, on about 118 small islands. You see locals hopping in a <i>traghetto</i> to cross the canal without holding onto anything for balance, and can't help thinking that these people are of the water, not of the land. Like the city they live in, they balance on the water. They live in it.<br />
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Vacations are different for everyone, and logically everyone has different experiences, but we had a perfect few days of 22 degree sunny weather (low 70's F), no cruise ships, no big tour groups, and a city slowing down off the summer season. Of course there were other tourists, and getting a sunset picture at the Rialto Bridge was a bit of a nightmare, but it didn't dampen any of the wonder I felt wandering around such a strange, unique and beautiful city.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical cicchetti at a bar by Santa Marina</td></tr>
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We took a boat to Burano, full of colorful houses and fishermen perched on little canals, and explored the glass making island of Murano. We drank spritz cocktails at sunset sitting along the canal. We inhaled plates of <i>sarde in saor</i> (a sweet and sour agrodolce dish of sardines cooked in sugar and onions and pine nuts served over polenta) and munched on lightly fried local soft shell crabs, called <i>moeche</i>. My favorite part of the eating is going into a little osteria or <i>bacaro</i> (venetian for a sort of bar that serves <i>cicchetti, or</i> tapas snacks and small plates), grabbing a glass of local wine that costs a few euros, and asking for a few snacks - the <i>cicchetti</i> can cost a few euros each, but many places will make you a mixed plate for a fixed amount. You can see the selection on chalkboards or in the glass cases by the bar. The price only applies for standing up and eating at the bar, along with the Venetian men on their way home from work who stopped in to down a glass of wine and have a quick nibble or two. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhnZ5xLRNfbdkrk7GALSVGFxuLLojGNfVF3MMZIL9Q0zOSrIxin9ywQjko2uD0GNrIV9j758glP4BpJHlaGqnxse7zrbiTjC7yqfnVy1ILbW5QGK2enDDryK2d8Uk7qYiuufXvTjCJXm4/s1600/IMG_4707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhnZ5xLRNfbdkrk7GALSVGFxuLLojGNfVF3MMZIL9Q0zOSrIxin9ywQjko2uD0GNrIV9j758glP4BpJHlaGqnxse7zrbiTjC7yqfnVy1ILbW5QGK2enDDryK2d8Uk7qYiuufXvTjCJXm4/s320/IMG_4707.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mixed cicchetti plate for 2 at Osteria Bancogiro - cost 15 euro for 20 pieces</td></tr>
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The people we interacted with, with their heavily cadenced Italian and totally incomprehensible local dialect, were really fantastic. I found everyone to be friendly and helpful, explaining water bus lines, recommending wines, and even explaining some of the local plates to us at the bar. I saw a tiny old lady crossing one of Venices 456,567 little bridges with difficulty, but then stopping to let some little blonde swedish babies pass her, all the while gently chiding, "be careful you beautiful children, it can be a little slippery" with a big smile on their face. Their blue eyes looked solemn as they seemed to absorb the message, understanding nothing of the older woman's Italian. She stopped, saying to herself, "how beautiful those children are", and smiling, pausing at the start of the steps of the bridge. I wanted to hug her.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from our room at Ca'Amadi. Note the elderly woman hanging out her laundry. You drop a sock here, you are done kids. Canal sock must be a common happening for novices.</td></tr>
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I can see how there is the potential for Venice to be too much, but that can be the case in most cities (and small villages on the Ligurian coast, for example) during high season for a day tripper or a cruise ship tourist. We were lucky to have the experience that we did, but that is part of the reason you need to come to Venice. Regardless of all of the mixed opinions of it, it's something that you need to decide for yourself. Love it or hate it, Venice is a place that the word beautiful does not do justice. It's bewitching, magical and unique, getting lost in a small alleyway that empties out to a lagoon lapping at your feet. And you have to decide for yourself which spell this enchanting city of bridges and canals casts.<br />
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Notes about our trip:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOKBIYAVIgKmnf5Vlke40C_XrfxXMRVJV1lm3cOZPmeeEx-dn-BG_c5crTppSjqisAalB3BDuzMXvXGJslAZG9i9X8jv-0EnWr9-6679UYWGL7NkpdA6Of1-GpU_8AC7cbptqMbou3U3o/s1600/IMG_4842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOKBIYAVIgKmnf5Vlke40C_XrfxXMRVJV1lm3cOZPmeeEx-dn-BG_c5crTppSjqisAalB3BDuzMXvXGJslAZG9i9X8jv-0EnWr9-6679UYWGL7NkpdA6Of1-GpU_8AC7cbptqMbou3U3o/s320/IMG_4842.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Branzino with pancetta and spinach at L'Osteria di Santa Marina</td></tr>
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We stayed at Ca'Amadi, a great little b&b a few steps from the Rialto Bridge. Once the house of Marco Polo, the suite we had was large and airy, and had two windows opening onto a small canal, which was surprisingly quiet at night. We also got a fantastic rate last minute, mid-week in late October/early November.<br />
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I had the best meal I have had in a very long time at L'osteria di Santa Marina. It is a refined place that serves incredibly well prepared plates and left us speechless. I don't know how they do not have a Michelin star.<br />
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I also inhaled the best branzino (sea bass) of my life in Burano, at Rivarosa Ristorante. Sitting along a little canal on this perfect little island with it's rainbow of houses, eating such a succulent piece of fish in the sun is a memory I will have for a long time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG1WbmPTjJfHw_oPnPtQMd9a7TRSPTbG8sukeV2Y6BODLh917mS-dTM05I8tHPY4GdbQmDOFGAJJ6CLUWmSb4LKqlrMHdgsoorQaiB7Nvo0BYReQT16z0YX8_9SAIgxXjmWn_1T6FvGXo/s640/blogger-image-737805057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG1WbmPTjJfHw_oPnPtQMd9a7TRSPTbG8sukeV2Y6BODLh917mS-dTM05I8tHPY4GdbQmDOFGAJJ6CLUWmSb4LKqlrMHdgsoorQaiB7Nvo0BYReQT16z0YX8_9SAIgxXjmWn_1T6FvGXo/s320/blogger-image-737805057.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarde in Saor at Vini da Gigio</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8zyAldVxQ3HWAl-a-YA1Xjq5x57K1JBl0WnxF934jBwClUuri9tUX9Mw6rmYuEHDTgRsMKdm4hr6yOUtxplGgwqaE5FH7gYUVSA_jZ6JVfVjCix00LylPRT-yoje4GuXOvGPWMk_koM/s1600/IMG_4812.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8zyAldVxQ3HWAl-a-YA1Xjq5x57K1JBl0WnxF934jBwClUuri9tUX9Mw6rmYuEHDTgRsMKdm4hr6yOUtxplGgwqaE5FH7gYUVSA_jZ6JVfVjCix00LylPRT-yoje4GuXOvGPWMk_koM/s320/IMG_4812.JPG" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local branzino steamed with local roasted artichokes and a great chardonnay at Rivarosa, in the island of Burano</td></tr>
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Vini di Gigio is a great place for a nice, simple meal of local plates (sarde in saor, moeche, and even the land dishes of the region, like a small hen stuffed with livers and salame then roasted) with a great wine list.<br />
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We loved the cicchetti at Cantina Do Mori, an ancient wine bar not far from the Mercato full of local old men knocking back wines and snacking alongside of us. <br />
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We also loved Osteria Sacro e Profano, Osteria Bancogiro, Osteria All'Alba and La Cantina...I didn't think it was possible to find a population of people that drink more then the Monterossini, but I did. A spritz at 10:30 am is not at all strange in Veneto.<br />
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Definitely, 100% bring a smartphone or tablet with GPS. You will get lost. Many times. After a few hours, I resigned myself to the fact that when I decided to go right, it would most certainly be wrong, and I would have to turn around at least 4 times. Plan on an extra 15-20 minutes to arrive somewhere you haven't been before - at night it all looks the same, and you will literally wind up at a canal in the dark more then once.<br />
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Bring a charger or extra battery for your camera or phone. You will take an amount of pictures of this incredible place that borders on obscene. Then you too will start a blog solely to show them off to your friends and family.<br />
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Be patient, smile, and remember that you are walking in one of the most incredible cities that man has ever built. Not something you do every day.<br />
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Enjoy!<br />
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<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-5631943650122978972013-10-16T11:31:00.000+02:002013-10-16T11:31:01.448+02:00Just a few more reasons to love October...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Cabbage season is upon us...hello, kim chi</div>
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And romanian cabbage soup with dill dumplings...</div>
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The temperature has dropped just enough to turn the oven on and not roast myself along with my desserts...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnU7Z_X5_kszqJ9fS5Bv6pnz79v4RV5BZiAcoyVdbHS1TKx70alClWFAhZwSuo4P7gxl3F2REZC0Yz8PhWiMQHoei2bUiKLXV_auCxZd0f34YUU1nlcfJULerF3yEOm783pT877_IdpcQ/s1600/IMG_4340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnU7Z_X5_kszqJ9fS5Bv6pnz79v4RV5BZiAcoyVdbHS1TKx70alClWFAhZwSuo4P7gxl3F2REZC0Yz8PhWiMQHoei2bUiKLXV_auCxZd0f34YUU1nlcfJULerF3yEOm783pT877_IdpcQ/s320/IMG_4340.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maple syrup, apple and bourbon bread pudding with sea salt caramel sauce</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZTNghkRTEEsdRVGU_GcmjPRRToGPcAe-3ULF_ldctUqdrPnGHT2IwxtqsXCRkrz3bPed8nZ-uTjArUeShvCvktb7lYWuLRnpUzfgjEKCZCp4qYnjQui64B-NAdqhaIZ2QqnlUvKYMhTI/s1600/IMG_4298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZTNghkRTEEsdRVGU_GcmjPRRToGPcAe-3ULF_ldctUqdrPnGHT2IwxtqsXCRkrz3bPed8nZ-uTjArUeShvCvktb7lYWuLRnpUzfgjEKCZCp4qYnjQui64B-NAdqhaIZ2QqnlUvKYMhTI/s320/IMG_4298.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Butterscotch pudding</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RzmxOg1QnMJTQkKmYYR6nNT4tbEqSlsTK28IIXpN_hNYWd8n_sl38PvLmCzp5yUwwKiXwrgd0Z0r6fSgaYJS6bdEW1v8Zzn1DHK-NlSbOEI6d-Y7KJpEI59h5EBoWS68f7sD5qMMucw/s1600/IMG_4297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RzmxOg1QnMJTQkKmYYR6nNT4tbEqSlsTK28IIXpN_hNYWd8n_sl38PvLmCzp5yUwwKiXwrgd0Z0r6fSgaYJS6bdEW1v8Zzn1DHK-NlSbOEI6d-Y7KJpEI59h5EBoWS68f7sD5qMMucw/s320/IMG_4297.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Espresso chocolate cupcakes with mocha buttercream<br /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I have the following things all to my happy self...</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ujQizNkX1yIvuSpqjF8-MdlMa8VHtgVR4q7YKxn7Xfi1DfL_hRnFI-IqObWlE-7WsWbqiwox3DwX4TiHsty-o7Ocmo4S0xy_C1_jTa8oo_hoMFCfRo65QcltxUYtfOorW8zKP5gPiRI/s1600/IMG_4287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ujQizNkX1yIvuSpqjF8-MdlMa8VHtgVR4q7YKxn7Xfi1DfL_hRnFI-IqObWlE-7WsWbqiwox3DwX4TiHsty-o7Ocmo4S0xy_C1_jTa8oo_hoMFCfRo65QcltxUYtfOorW8zKP5gPiRI/s320/IMG_4287.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite reading rock by the Gigante</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt5BuFF03lx-rI8__rUY2GQcPx5d4e30KI8tvUMFMEqsOxCrEShcOh1f-TB5L_n5eM5y_bckXHnU7igrIBLhfmtByL0LZAgjGc74WGPxtjy5UmAYiwIy8n705WjdG0DHigc2wImpzP_Ro/s1600/IMG_4322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt5BuFF03lx-rI8__rUY2GQcPx5d4e30KI8tvUMFMEqsOxCrEShcOh1f-TB5L_n5eM5y_bckXHnU7igrIBLhfmtByL0LZAgjGc74WGPxtjy5UmAYiwIy8n705WjdG0DHigc2wImpzP_Ro/s320/IMG_4322.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite table at Pie' Du Ma in Riomaggiore</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjltVRAxpK9PB71hPNlD6ABgbk_V19LbU7ISmCXCMjygLUvBMuoV1MXPKhSZTj1rrWoxKrovVAiywVXkC958IO91-MwODVgF_kIvu8FAsR9YMRgWGT6TEG1Sr6wmd5AwbAER_Rv5_DCoUE/s1600/IMG_4324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjltVRAxpK9PB71hPNlD6ABgbk_V19LbU7ISmCXCMjygLUvBMuoV1MXPKhSZTj1rrWoxKrovVAiywVXkC958IO91-MwODVgF_kIvu8FAsR9YMRgWGT6TEG1Sr6wmd5AwbAER_Rv5_DCoUE/s320/IMG_4324.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sunset at my favorite table with no one jockeying for the best position to photograph it</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkO0UfawZU8pKpW7Bhn48PqRksqC-2keHP-jr7wv7wWBSDeHdp3A7C0_c0WLlxJyeWDG8jHrqgMSd-T1L0vVVpGg6L151u8kMR7tG-0RxMYy1YL7sGfJ9l4PZNn7Sy56zir3cdsVxXsrM/s1600/IMG_4363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkO0UfawZU8pKpW7Bhn48PqRksqC-2keHP-jr7wv7wWBSDeHdp3A7C0_c0WLlxJyeWDG8jHrqgMSd-T1L0vVVpGg6L151u8kMR7tG-0RxMYy1YL7sGfJ9l4PZNn7Sy56zir3cdsVxXsrM/s320/IMG_4363.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite rock. And no one else around it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHejADYjpWfWg6tJgdnKv4_QkOAcvEhI0OfatEIXpSFui1HNMrg5-fiV5lhxTC4Ec6FUOQj_V4AMmPOu1kqCej9ArHpboaUfLaibzIbJBUv9T48hq1nCTqqOwxkD9yGMssb2vSE_grhwA/s1600/IMG_4374.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHejADYjpWfWg6tJgdnKv4_QkOAcvEhI0OfatEIXpSFui1HNMrg5-fiV5lhxTC4Ec6FUOQj_V4AMmPOu1kqCej9ArHpboaUfLaibzIbJBUv9T48hq1nCTqqOwxkD9yGMssb2vSE_grhwA/s320/IMG_4374.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vernazza.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe9x_Mv9JX4ZnzbX5l_iYE5kuAQYXYhkpiL3w9ZV7lc_FLQdWSHWLMXXs187VnaP619b66dhHoadq0KISHwpsSz8egx-o8V5PJdu9y_xeJRyyyR0D64WeTCFR0UilAG_P4hMi9jP7ZBdk/s1600/IMG_4394.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe9x_Mv9JX4ZnzbX5l_iYE5kuAQYXYhkpiL3w9ZV7lc_FLQdWSHWLMXXs187VnaP619b66dhHoadq0KISHwpsSz8egx-o8V5PJdu9y_xeJRyyyR0D64WeTCFR0UilAG_P4hMi9jP7ZBdk/s320/IMG_4394.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sharing the sea with a few pirates.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijheoL5xqiwzIShKxhEjNmEBRQ29iG2NQJBH1C-wNc6Fmi8sQkOxD4pnV3s-jfOfkrrVP3L9VXLUY19KyY2s7aqUXNDK4SB1nj6uFxKkU4vbYd6_d4NfzHNl4mmwnUwpB4qw2fr9PqAZE/s1600/IMG_4396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijheoL5xqiwzIShKxhEjNmEBRQ29iG2NQJBH1C-wNc6Fmi8sQkOxD4pnV3s-jfOfkrrVP3L9VXLUY19KyY2s7aqUXNDK4SB1nj6uFxKkU4vbYd6_d4NfzHNl4mmwnUwpB4qw2fr9PqAZE/s320/IMG_4396.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The long stretch of beach free of umbrellas...the private beaches have closed for the season</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-YR7F0R68rjmCzhpvt87rfYJheU38MQnHRgIPODdQzSl-6AUG5WfZOxQskqRUewfhgz-BFJ7HGrRay7vgt0t701-DG374AmP95ij0V4WGe_6f2-uf9_ecVIW0P1cDnYHveWIOqTD7lnI/s1600/IMG_4411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-YR7F0R68rjmCzhpvt87rfYJheU38MQnHRgIPODdQzSl-6AUG5WfZOxQskqRUewfhgz-BFJ7HGrRay7vgt0t701-DG374AmP95ij0V4WGe_6f2-uf9_ecVIW0P1cDnYHveWIOqTD7lnI/s320/IMG_4411.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This view...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR0qxFjvuC49Icu-crplrsGTtv1QvK1E79vRm_psoSxvhQaIgjOiHMghD3DUPXcHZAzPykSXMoFQ8G4skrpkzrVUyZBdvnCm6EsExON_Sj5Gvwu0Wv73d4Sgp4r-j9X7Xfdg9pHHw2KbI/s1600/IMG_4414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR0qxFjvuC49Icu-crplrsGTtv1QvK1E79vRm_psoSxvhQaIgjOiHMghD3DUPXcHZAzPykSXMoFQ8G4skrpkzrVUyZBdvnCm6EsExON_Sj5Gvwu0Wv73d4Sgp4r-j9X7Xfdg9pHHw2KbI/s320/IMG_4414.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and this one.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I suppose I should be touting the joys of being here in October - taking the risk of a few rainy days but having these amazing views and clear but chilly blue sea to yourself is worth it.<br />But in all honesty, I quite like having it all to myself for a few beautiful days a year. So, stay home.<br />(Joke)<br />October is wonderful. Aside from the fact that you do run the risk of hitting some rainy, miserable days, the clear ones really make you just walk out of your house, look at the sea, and smile. </span></td></tr>
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<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-84260885728372929452013-09-29T11:54:00.002+02:002013-09-30T12:10:30.936+02:00From grapes to grain...When people think of "La Cantina", they think of wine. We're in Italy. We drink wine. It makes sense. Long dinners swirling ruby reds, chilled whites, terrace covered hillsides and Tuscan rolling countryside dotted with vineyards like pinpricks on a map. It's hard not to think about another beverage so important to Italian culture, except for maybe coffee, and that makes more of a pitstop in your day as opposed to a long appearance at your table.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ4I0LoOJpXbUkAQrbT4-HYt9HQ5B8Mr9M_aCpv_g5Wp_PAMfn-MY_c0HWSxSSCmJu7GaGvm58beNZckkSsL9Pgd20uMLGj50NP-g-sPyL_GWtK_98TQRiU2RzPhlF5_Bs1x6ZVhJkX5I/s1600/IMG_3006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ4I0LoOJpXbUkAQrbT4-HYt9HQ5B8Mr9M_aCpv_g5Wp_PAMfn-MY_c0HWSxSSCmJu7GaGvm58beNZckkSsL9Pgd20uMLGj50NP-g-sPyL_GWtK_98TQRiU2RzPhlF5_Bs1x6ZVhJkX5I/s320/IMG_3006.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of our beers at the Cantina</td></tr>
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Beer, however, has been making a lot of noise in the last decade in Italy. No longer regulated to it's prize post as the beverage of choice of Italians while eating pizza (wine, no, but beer is a pizza must), the craft beer movement in Italy has been growing steadily in the past several years.</div>
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When I met Manuel before moving here, I was actually here to study this trend for my MA in Food Studies at NYU. Traveling around the country, I tasted many different Italian craft beers from Udine to Reggio Calabria (it's a tough life sometimes), and interviewed many Italians and tourists about the craft beer scene in Italy. Back to New York in 2010, using the about to open Eataly brewpub as an example, I studied the export influence of Italian craft beer.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZbJrIINdHri5GzF2qrtF-W969XSct6-BGJi-9VMDkhM1ktSwb62LbJsVC6DYlk6grQwhDAx-OkK69UdjlqosqcwHZSnNYHvvp5Z7PuUyTNuCtFCORg7oFWgaAVh5Xkhh_SF-cypNLtE/s1600/IMG_3059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZbJrIINdHri5GzF2qrtF-W969XSct6-BGJi-9VMDkhM1ktSwb62LbJsVC6DYlk6grQwhDAx-OkK69UdjlqosqcwHZSnNYHvvp5Z7PuUyTNuCtFCORg7oFWgaAVh5Xkhh_SF-cypNLtE/s320/IMG_3059.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beer and cheese, my preference over beer and wine</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWlrOzCoiAcjSiOgBSkK011zi5LtFZxVUAZrbZ9mdXj4ve_b8nWfs2q1Xu0d6gtK58cLRbmD0A1R2_EzHOPYEKBxr14op2-G0RylekuX9fiv2rJGSwRK504NgAE8YYfmEztFjEnlsVj8/s1600/IMG_3451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWlrOzCoiAcjSiOgBSkK011zi5LtFZxVUAZrbZ9mdXj4ve_b8nWfs2q1Xu0d6gtK58cLRbmD0A1R2_EzHOPYEKBxr14op2-G0RylekuX9fiv2rJGSwRK504NgAE8YYfmEztFjEnlsVj8/s320/IMG_3451.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A tripel and a basil blonde, both from Genova</td></tr>
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I learned that as excited as Italians are about birra artigianale, craft beers from the boot are not as well known in the United States for a variety of reasons, price, bottle sizes (many Italian beers are made in the 75cL wine bottle size, not the smaller bottles you might be more used to seeing) and domestic competition being big ones. This is cemented even more working in La Cantina Di Miky, where we now have one of the biggest Italian craft beer selections in this part of Italy. Through a lot of research and hard work (again, life can be tough) we put together a list of 62 different bottled microbrews and 4 on tap. We offer a flight of beer tastings with Ligurian snacks to try and encourage people to branch out and try some craft beers. I'm incredibly proud of our beer list and how many people have come back just to try the beers. Ranging from a local summer ale from La Spezia, to a basil beer from Genova to a Tuscan roasted chestnut beer and a Roman pilsner, we have a huge selection, and every day I see more and more guests shocked and happily surprised at it.</div>
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Having worked at a brewpub in New Jersey for more then a decade and in the beer industry for my entire adult life, I learned early on to appreciate craft beer. I love wine, but my heart belongs to another. I also learned that not everyone wants to give it a chance (my Italian grandfather, for example, was a staunch Coors light drinker in spite of my best efforts to sway him) and that when people come in and order "a beer", you have a great opportunity to introduce them to something new.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On tap at Il Bovaro in Florence</td></tr>
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Though here in Italy, Italians are becoming more and more aware and proud of their craft beer movement, many foreigners aren't as aware that they have another completely Italian drink option when on vacation. As much as people associate wine with Italy, beer is just as great of an example of taking the Italian food philosophy and applying it to something. Take what is local, take what you have, and get brewing - hence roasted chestnuts, basil, sardinian wildflower honey, sicilian orange peel, and so forth. Like the United States 20 years ago, the lack of a brewing tradition like a Bavarian Purity Law or some Belgian monks breathing down your neck, means that Italian brewers can take inspiration and styles from all around the world and play with them in their own way, though they certainly love their Indian and American Pale Ales.</div>
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For those of you coming to Italy, it's really worth it to branch out. Take the words Peroni and Moretti temporarily out of your vernacular and ask for something local, something unique, and drink up.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beers with my cousin Valentina in Cividale (Friuli)</td></tr>
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Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-85294749364646900902013-09-12T14:25:00.002+02:002013-09-12T14:25:25.575+02:00ciao from cornigliaCorniglia...<br />
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...however unjustly, is probably the most underrated of the Cinque Terre. <br />
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People here for a day or two (which seems to be the norm) are trying to maximize their time, and the allure of the village perched on the rocks doesn't outweigh the 387 steps you need to climb to arrive in the village. The boat doesn't stop here, a car is more or less useless in exploring the region, and the train connections to here aren't as frequent as bigger Monterosso or Riomaggiore. The village does offer a small blue bus to bring visitors up from the station to the center of town at a fee (a well spent 2 euro), and though theoretically it should arrive in concurrence with the trains, the world isn't perfect, and Italian train and shuttle timings are far from that.<br />
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Once you arrive in the village, a shy beauty perched atop a cliff, she opens her arms to you. Streets isn't the correct word. Corniglia is full of alleyways that wind up to more stone steps, down to wind battered gates perched over the sea, and open into a windy piazzetta, a terrace with a stunning view, or a tiny church looking protectively down on it's few residents. The stairs do not end when you arrive in the village center, as the stone houses built into the rock sprout other houses atop them, other little offshoots that pile on top f each other in a seemingly impossible balance of color. Corniglia is the tiniest of the villages, and offers the least in terms of dining options or bars, but oozes and romantic and eerie sort of charm. Time here isn't spent in terms of days, as the village is so small that a few quick passes here and there can cover the whole thing, but a few left turns instead of rights can bring you to quiet stone terraces with breezy, 360-degree views. Ducking through an arch and looking to the left, another open balcony is covered with nets, as local boys practice their soccer, ingenious in their method to make sure the ball doesn't fall hundreds of feet into the crashing blue sea below.<br />
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The other villages have had a healthy rivalry through the centuries, and locals are very proud of their homes. Those from Monterosso might scoff at Riomaggiore, those from Vernazza thumb their nose at Manarola, residents of Riomaggiore laugh at everyone else, and so forth, but Corniglia, as has been mentioned "never bothered anyone". <br />
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You feel that sort of beautiful isolation twofold here, already within an area of villages already difficult to reach, to add the challenges of Corniglia on top of that seems almost impossible.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGdQJxO-BPy_-lK-aIX3VkK5NUCKwY73etby4ACw0LuPWBfVLBVesRvZlnyjEThHF2HBYupmIgMuZrp65Y2ZP73IK0DsQeanZIlqHMy-92n6yaCTrQP-7qg4rp7hyphenhyphenkQmfHLrZg1DartKw/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-09-12+at+1.57.49+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGdQJxO-BPy_-lK-aIX3VkK5NUCKwY73etby4ACw0LuPWBfVLBVesRvZlnyjEThHF2HBYupmIgMuZrp65Y2ZP73IK0DsQeanZIlqHMy-92n6yaCTrQP-7qg4rp7hyphenhyphenkQmfHLrZg1DartKw/s320/Screen+shot+2013-09-12+at+1.57.49+PM.png" width="320" /></a><br />
Though Corniglia might be the most overlooked, like a beautiful and timid girl in the back of the room, she looks up at you and smiles knowingly. Corniglia doesn't care. She's perfectly secure in knowing that she's the real star of the show, and happy to share her secret with the few who want to seek her out.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-80113903448024875612013-08-30T14:02:00.000+02:002013-08-30T14:02:39.735+02:00arrivederci agostoOther things besides work that happened in the crazy month of August...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9HAwLPDQfP4_Ac6XBlGtF0dEzm1_vwTzQw8zu1nBz-gvt3JDbm8oY0a6-ud6jqTXMxjEbach2O9iOWXhgNrw5DUvzWtg-b7ZbjzFimyKjFNUkAw0CZTacDcn00TMbh0YBp5OdiEFtuag/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-08-30+at+1.24.26+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9HAwLPDQfP4_Ac6XBlGtF0dEzm1_vwTzQw8zu1nBz-gvt3JDbm8oY0a6-ud6jqTXMxjEbach2O9iOWXhgNrw5DUvzWtg-b7ZbjzFimyKjFNUkAw0CZTacDcn00TMbh0YBp5OdiEFtuag/s320/Screen+shot+2013-08-30+at+1.24.26+PM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My cilantro and dill seeds sprouted and thrived</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I found my dream house (tower?) for sale in Sestri Levante</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunsets and sailboats</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monterosso in the August sun</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLP1zrDrnDWxXpFryzy_io2JxL66BUcEnD_LFxJj-mRemgkD2sziHQErlzt6LxkTkq2SkWaAjkf_N8pE75mfJajjA94DMi2PtqIhNrqPm39fK9MnlZXJbr3LgmOv0ecq1JClNqPD_YG5o/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-08-30+at+1.25.13+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLP1zrDrnDWxXpFryzy_io2JxL66BUcEnD_LFxJj-mRemgkD2sziHQErlzt6LxkTkq2SkWaAjkf_N8pE75mfJajjA94DMi2PtqIhNrqPm39fK9MnlZXJbr3LgmOv0ecq1JClNqPD_YG5o/s320/Screen+shot+2013-08-30+at+1.25.13+PM.png" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hills above the village, between Levanto and Monterosso</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blueberry muffins with local blueberries from our friendly farmer</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pebbles and the clear blue sea</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birds at sunset in Levanto as the shadows of the other part of Liguria and France hover on the horizon</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lightening storm lights up the night sky in Monterosso</td></tr>
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<br />Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-50457293046204621322013-07-30T16:59:00.005+02:002013-07-30T16:59:46.387+02:00Sweet and spicy<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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Anyone who has been reading for a while knows that July and August are incredibly busy here. I do my best to post something every now and again, but as most of my time is spent in the Cantina, I don't find myself having very much to say (a least, nothing particularly interesting, apart from the normal restaurant stories about people being crazy and so forth...) but I do have some time to throw together some kitchen experiments every now and again.</div>
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Cooking is how I relax. It also stems from a deep loathing of throwing any perfectly good food away. When the four hot pepper plants on my garden started all sprouting shiny, temptingly dangerous red peppers in small orbs or long, thin fingers at the same time, I panicked. What does one do with so many hot peppers at the same time?</div>
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From the left in the photo above, we have hot pepper infused olive oil, middle, pickled cucumbers and hot peppers, and then, on the right, my first attempt ever at making homemade hot sauce. I will not traumatize anyone by posting the recipe, which is actually too hot even for me. It's made with fresh nectarine and these little calabrian hot peppers no longer then your little finger that will literally have you tearing up after just one seed. Lessons learned. </div>
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However, my newest step into desserts turned out much better. With the overflow of nectarines and golden plums we have at home, as well as more kumquats from our little garden, I put together a <i>pannacotta</i> of greek yogurt and vanilla topped with the summer fruit I had in the house. The <i>pannacotta</i> recipe is from one of my absolute favorite food blogs, <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2013/04/yogurt-panna-cotta-with-walnuts-and-honey/" target="_blank">Smitten Kitchen</a>. <i>Pannacotta</i>, which means literally "cooked cream" is just that. Cook it on the stovetop, add some gelatin, pop it in the fridge for a few hours, and eat away. I added a bit more sugar, a drizzle of vanilla and a few extra squeezes of local lemon to the recipe before letting it chill - but it's quite literally the easiest dessert I've ever made, and another great way to use up the abundance of stone fruits that I can't help buying during the summer.<br />
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Also, it's a great way to cool off my burned tastebuds after that hot sauce...Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5617954707278289869.post-63026411013851033782013-07-11T14:37:00.000+02:002013-07-11T14:37:07.551+02:00little pieces of real life<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhikfQYV1PU4zsFi9aga2aLkIBZs8ppeMdeWa5Buy7thBbw5xodIk5MPinUmHFxxqXes04RwEKCJQlY8hL_x7JhTIBYrhTzBUaUfWLNQ1f6oiVpz3_LuvZGxkmDETA49TZXu_j23Xp8WJ0/s1600/IMG_3928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhikfQYV1PU4zsFi9aga2aLkIBZs8ppeMdeWa5Buy7thBbw5xodIk5MPinUmHFxxqXes04RwEKCJQlY8hL_x7JhTIBYrhTzBUaUfWLNQ1f6oiVpz3_LuvZGxkmDETA49TZXu_j23Xp8WJ0/s320/IMG_3928.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Preparing the anchovies for salting</td></tr>
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Sometimes during the summer months of July and August, it's hard to see the quaintness and small pieces of daily life that go on as normal in the village. Monterosso al Mare is unbelievably tiny, and when people come in for the day, filling the streets, beaches, snapping pictures and then trickling out to get on the boat or train to the next village, it can sometimes feel like tourists are all that make up the town.<br />
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Then, you turn left down a small street and see women from the village preparing fresh anchovies to be put under salt, in the traditional way the villagers have been preserving their most famous fish for centuries.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyphenhyphenfdiOCcF6M_rb-lrZndIaaGyRQyXQN2q2AnPjSfn9Ie2KEbB_pE9ronf399bEJBIWHqLGlboMaK27hHzVCGRlREv2j02hcvW7fsxeV-ObDbBjC8QpA9gSUucj6IwkMyzOaUHYS3RCIQ/s1600/IMG_3927.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyphenhyphenfdiOCcF6M_rb-lrZndIaaGyRQyXQN2q2AnPjSfn9Ie2KEbB_pE9ronf399bEJBIWHqLGlboMaK27hHzVCGRlREv2j02hcvW7fsxeV-ObDbBjC8QpA9gSUucj6IwkMyzOaUHYS3RCIQ/s320/IMG_3927.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Salting stand</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Punta mesco from the sea</td></tr>
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You rent a paddleboat, and in a few minutes, are far from the crowded shore, full of umbrellas fanning out in bright colors setting off a backdrop of the clear blue sea. You look to the left, and it's just flat ocean - to the right, the protected marine area the runs alongside Punta Mesco, the mountain the looks down over the village. Rocks meet waves, and underneath the water, you can see fish happily going about their day, a jellyfish bobbing lazily in the waves, and even a lone swimmer joining in on the peaceful fun. Turning back towards the village, it seems like a long, narrow stretch of color built into an impossible nook where the mountains meet the sea. Another boat rides lazily by, waving and smiling as the fisherman squints into the sun. <br />
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Turning around, sailing<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back towards home - literally. My house is high up on the left.</td></tr>
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back towards the village, Monterosso again grows and fills up your vision. Sounds of laughter, cars, a ferry boat gearing up to make it's next round fill your ears. But if you close your eyes, you can still hear the water. If you go a few minutes out, you can reflect back on what you see from far away, it's uniqueness, it's beauty.<br />
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And if you make a left instead of a right, you can always find a scene of real life in what is still a very real, very small fishing village.Christinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105871872063475355noreply@blogger.com0