You 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.

Good morning, Pope Francis

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.

The duomo, the duomo…Florence
View from our room at Granduomo apartments

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.

Piazza Navona, Roma

It drips cool.  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?

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.  

Sunday market in Santo Spirito, Florence

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.

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.  

Roman Rooftops

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.

Piazza della repubblica, Florence

And then go back home to the beach.

Winter Camogli

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.  

Occasionally, the sun perks through, the clouds spread apart, and you have muted shades of pastel to break up all that grey.

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.

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.

 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.

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 camogliesi.  

Portofino hides to the right, but to the left, sprawling in the distance, lies Genoa, La Superba.  

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.

beach music

A sunny Sunday in Monterosso...small waves rippling over smooth stones...

Another riviera

I've been gone for a while, but for a great reason.  Vacation!

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).

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.

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.

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 hola.  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.

Here are some of my favorite pictures from one of my favorite countries...

Creamy, delicious, silky smooth...fat?

Lardo, in all of it's fatty glory

Let's talk lardo.

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, lardo di Colonnata, meant that lardo would be consumed in large amounts.

Lardo 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.

After my first bite, I was hooked.  It quite literally melts in your mouth, covering your tongue with smooth fat and spices.  Lardo 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 larderia, where you cure and sell the famous star of Colonnata, after another.

Marble 

one larderia of many

Where the magic happens

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.

Ready to bring home!

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 larderia 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 lardo di Colonnata 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.

Everything is made of marble!

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.

Back to the mountains AKA conquering your fears AKA Happy New Year!

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.

In addition, there was one big factor at play.  I love Trentino.  I really do.

Apple juice and beer at the Cima Uomo peak at San Pellegrino

The village of Moena

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 autonomy by Italy 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 puzzone, 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.

On the way to Passo Rolle

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.

Happy New Year e Buon Anno a tutti!

Christmas vacation

Christmas 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).  

As you've probably already guessed, we joined them.  

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.