The Legend of La Befana — Redux

Here’s an oldie but a goodie. Did La Befana come to your house this year? Now it’s time to take down the tree in the Dini-Jenkins house . . . Buon Anno a tutti!

Christmas table happiness

When I was a kid, we celebrated Christmas on December 25. Santa Claus came down the chimney (I never knew how he got into our fireplace-less house) the night before and, since I was an only child, I awoke to boxes and boxes of joy. I loved it. And around 2:00 we ate the typical Italian-American Christmas uber-dinner: turkey with all the trimmings, lasagna and sauce (never “gravy” in my house, always sauce) that my father had slaved over for two days, an American fruit pie of some kind — and cannoli. And then my English-Irish mother, who would drive miles away to the only bakery she could find that made miniature Italian pastries, would bring out a tray of  yummy rummy babas, eclairs, napoleans, cream puffs, sfogliatelle, ricotta tarts, nut horns and more. I just gained five pounds writing these things down. My grandfather would enjoy his whiskey-laced black coffee with two teaspoons of sugar, and all was right with the world.

But at some point during the festivities, my Italian family always mentioned “Little Christmas” in the Old Country, their voices a little wistful and their eyes a little misty. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration. But it always came up. Years later, I realized that this January 6 event was the “Twelfth Night” that Shakespeare wrote about. The Twelfth Day of Christmas. And years after that I put it together that Little Christmas was Twelfth Night was the Feast of Epiphany in the Christian calendar. The feast celebrating the arrival (finally!) of the Three Wise Men to the manger. So what? Well, in Italy — especially in the poverty-stricken southern part of Italy where my grandparents came from — there is a Christmas legend about all of this. The Legend of La Befana.

My beautiful Deruta ornament

Today, Babbo Natale comes on Christmas Eve and does his happy-making work. But in the days of my grandfather’s generation, Italian kids mostly got their chance at some goodies on January 5, the eve of Epiphany. That’s when La Befana, an ugly old witchy-looking woman, would board her broomstick and visit the homes where children lived.

Legend has it that the Three Wise Men who were following the star, looking for the baby Jesus, stopped at the old woman’s house while she was cleaning. They asked for food and water and a place to stay, and also asked if she would like to join them on their quest for the new King. Suspicious, she said “no,” making an excuse about having too much work to do. They left, and very soon she felt a twinge of regret. Perhaps she should have followed them after all. She gathered up some meager gifts and ran out of the house in search of the men, but to no avail. She could not find them anywhere, even though she was trying to follow the star they’d told her about.

Realizing the opportunity that she had probably missed, the old woman flies on her broomstick to this day, all over the countryside, visiting homes with children and filling their stockings with gifts. Oranges, candy, cakes, nuts and small toys… for the good children. The naughty children get lumps of coal. (My parents actually did this to me once and it has scarred me for more than 50 years . . . but I digress.) She still flies because she is still looking for the Christ Child, and seeks it in the face of every child she meets. And children still hang up their stockings on January 5 and still sing songs to La Befana (from Epifania, Italian for Epiphany) the good witch of Italy.

If you’re lucky enough to be in Italy during the holidays, you’re likely to see a Befana toy fair or two. There’s a huge one in Piazza Navona in Rome, where stall after stall tempts browsers with candy and toys (even chunks of black sugar made to look like coal). And children leave letters to La Befana in a manger, telling her what they’d like her to bring.

Leave it to us Italians to figure out how to get a double dose of holiday gatherings, giftings and mealtimes in a single twelve-day period! What about you? Any “Befana” stories to tell? How was Little Christmas celebrated inyour Italian family?

Buon viaggio!

Reyjkavik Rocks!

Iceland is surprising, sophisticated and a great jumping off point for your European travels.

Picture an island the size of Kentucky. Then add about 300,000 people and put 200,000 of them in the capital city. Make the people outside the city rugged farmers and. Throw in a long tradition of storytelling (sagas) and a history of rough sea voyages, Viking settlements and bloody battles. Don’t forget to add more active volcanoes than anywhere else on earth, a few huge glaciers and geysers and spectacular waterfalls that drop several hundred feet from lava cliffs. Sprinkle in the many geothermal spas that dot the landscape (and go a long way towards powering the island). There. You’ve got it. Welcome to Iceland.

The iconic Blue Lagoon at 10:00 a.m.

A quick five-and-a-half hour flight from Washington, D.C., Iceland is a land of stark contrasts. In Reykjavik, you’ll find a young, modern city where the partying and music scene go on into the wee hours. But outside the city, it’s a land where sheep, cattle and small horses graze contentedly and where its lava-encrusted countryside looks like a lichen-laced lunar landscape. Every turn on Highway 1, the ring road completed in 1974, takes your breath away.

Whether you’re into history and museums, spa rejuvenation, skiing, whale and puffin watching, ice climbing, horseback riding, rafting on glacial rivers or simply enjoying a steaming cup of swiss mokka and shopping in a vibrant and sophisticated European city, Iceland has something to offer. World-class entertainment came to Reykjavik this year, too, with the opening of the new Harpa Concert Hall on the harbor. And while Icelandic is the official language — not dissimilar to what the Vikings spoke when they arrived 1,000 years ago — most city folks speak better English than we do.

Gullfoss ("Golden") Falls

I confess I’d heard horror stories about meals of boiled sheep’s head, fermented shark meat and smoked puffin. But while those might be available, Iceland is known today for its small, delicious lobsters, lobster soup, Arctic Charr and home-grown lamb. The Icelanders also use greenhouse technology to create an abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables — even bananas. And the array of yogurt (skyr) at our breakfast buffet each morning was stunning. But while Icelanders are fabulously proud of their local cuisine, they are also nuts about burgers, ice cream and their own version of hot dogs (pylsurs), made with red sausage and served with “the works.”

What to do in Iceland? First, make a stop at the Blue Lagoon and experience geothermal bliss in mineral-rich water that ranges from 98º – 102º F. You can also book a variety of spa treatments, but you may never want to leave the lagoon itself. Then take the famous Golden Circle Tour and see the Gullfoss (“Golden”) Falls, which tumbles 32 meters into a stunning double cascade. You’ll also see the Geysir hot springs in the Haukadular geothermal field — Strokkur was very accommodating, going off as scheduled every 5 minutes or so. Then go see the UNESCO World Heritage Site, Thingvellir National Park, long the site of the Alpingi, or Viking parliament. Right there also sits the Mid-Atlantic ridge, where Europe and America drift apart — causing many of the earthquakes in the region. Continue on to the South Shore, where you’ll see glaciers and pass by Katla, the volcano geologists expect to blow very soon. You can even stop by the Thorvaldseyri farm that had to evacuate during Eyjafjallajökull’s infamous 2010 eruption, stalling international air traffic for days. And this is just the beginning.

Strokkur Geysir erupting -- right on time

An added feature to visiting Iceland is that you can book a flight into Keflavik Airport, spend up to seven nights in the capital city and then go on to one of several European destinations with no penalty charges. Check out the stopover booking engine on Icelandair’s website for more details. For me, Iceland was a revelation and I’m looking forward to going back.

IF YOU GO . . .

Icelandair flies direct to Keflavik from Dulles Airport, but you can also depart from Richmond and go through JFK. Check out the “extras” on the website (www.icelandair.co.uk) and plan your own tour or look for all-inclusive tour operators.

If you’re a stargazer and want to try for the Aurora Borealis, I recommend traveling with MWT Associates (www.melitatrips.com. Look for the Northern Lights and Lava Fields Tour. Conditions weren’t right the week we went, but the skies are breathtaking nonetheless.

We stayed in the Grand Hotel Reykjavik, on the outskirts of town. The staff was friendly and accommodations were comfortable (www.grand.is). But to be right in town, consider the Hotel Centrum (www.hotelcentrum.is) or the Radisson Blu 1919 (www.radissonblu.com/1919hotel-reykjavik). And Icelandair is opening up its own city center hotel in March 2012, the Reykjavik Marina (http://icelandairhotels.com/news/icelandair-hotel-reykjavik-marina-open-central-reykjavik).

Rainbow over the lava fields

For good eats, don’t miss the Fish Company (www.fishcompany.is/English) and, if you have time, order its eye-opening “Around Iceland” menu. It’s four courses of iconic fish, lamb and yogurt dishes from all parts of the island. For something more casual, stop in at the harborside Sea Baron/Saegreifinn (www.lvoe.ca/index.php?q=node83) and see what former fisherman and Coast Guard chef Kjartan Halldórsson is up to. Choose your order from the case up front — don’t forget the lobster soup — and pay at the cashier. Sit on the little wooden stools and your meal will be brought to you. There’s nothing like it. And if you can plan ahead, don’t miss an experience at Idnó, right next to the City Pond (www.idno.is/english.html).  It’s one of Reykjavik’s most historic buildings and now hosts both a restaurant and theatre. It’s the perfect place for a very special evening.

You’ll probably hear more from me in the future about this beautiful and inspiring place. But for now, please accept my warmest wishes for a light-filled Happy Hannukah and a very Merry Christmas!

Buon viaggio!

A MERRY GUEST POST: Tips for Packing Light this Holiday Season

On packing: Lay out all your clothes and all your money. Then, take half the clothes and twice the money. — Susan Butler Anderson

‘Tis the season! If you’re planning to travel in the next few weeks, be sure to heed the words of our guest blogger, Holly Miller, a writer for Coupon Croc in the UK. Book your next vacation online and save with the latest discounts and promotions at CouponCroc.co.uk.

Peabody Essex Museum, Salem, MA

As travel plans solidify for the holiday season, you’ve probably already purchased your plane ticket, grabbing the early bird’s discount — but have you remembered the new weight tariff on airplanes? Airlines are charging considerable sums for baggage that is overweight — sometimes $50 or more per bag. Pack light this holiday season, and leave the stress behind.

Limit Bulky Clothing

Pack sweaters, for instance, that you can wear with several outfits and limit the weight you add by taking six sweaters when two or three will do instead. Remember: You’ll probably be wearing one of them on the flight.

Silk long johns are often warmer than the thicker cotton ones, and they certainly weigh less. Consider those instead of the old-fashioned type we wore as kids.

Do you really need five pairs of shoes? If you’re planning a night out while you’re away from home, take one pair of dressy shoes. If you’re planning on more than one night out, take one pair of dressy shoes that coordinates with each outfit you pack.

Recycle

For a week’s vacation, you truly do not need six extra pairs of jeans. Denim weighs a lot, and you probably don’t need more than three pairs total. Wearing a pair of jeans more than one day happens considerably more often than people might tell you, and it’s perfectly acceptable to do so.

Besides, you can throw a load or two of clothes in the washer while you’re away. Machines do work in most places — really. You don’t have to pack laundry detergent. They’re expensive per unit, but buying a small box of laundry detergent in a laundry mat costs far less than a weight tariff tacked onto the price of your flight travel — each way.

Ship Excess

If you’re bringing items for others either on your way to your destination or back home, consider the very reasonable rates the US Postal Service charges in their “any weight” Priority postage plan: So long as it fits in the box, you pay only a flat fee for mailing the box to a domestic address.

Often, that postage is far less than a weight tariff, and with prior arrangements, hotels may accept packages on your behalf if you have reservations there. Don’t forget that you can mail things back to yourself, as well.

Load up on souvenirs and other purchases if you wish, but be clear about how you’ll get them home before you buy. Just think outside the suitcase!

Ignore Holly's advice at your own peril!

Summary 

Airplane tickets cost enough to begin with. Don’t add to your travel costs by incurring weight tariffs with overweight bags. Pack only what you truly need; plan on recycling your clothing, and ship to yourself any excess.

Remember: This holiday season, your luggage is on a diet!

Buon viaggio!

Iceland: A Tease

Iceland, though it lies so far to the north that it is partly within the Arctic Circle, is, like Norway, Scotland, and Ireland, affected by the Gulf Stream, so that considerable portions of it are quite habitable. — British explorer Harry Johnston
 

A rainbow on the lava fields

The young woman behind the reservation desk at our hotel was born in Nebraska. After graduating from college, she spent a year in Iceland, then went to Denmark for another year and returned to Iceland, where she has lived for the past 18 months with her Icelandic husband. She’s learning the language, little by little, and I’m impressed, because it looks impossible.

There's nothing like the Blue Lagoon in the morning!

Why Iceland, I asked? Because, she said, she admired the incredible spirit of independence in the people and she loved their tradition of storytelling. Icelanders are famous for their sagas, epic tales in both prose and poetry that recount stories of early Viking voyages and battles and the ensuing feuds between Icelandic families. One of the most famous sagas is over 100,000 words long. (For those who care about these things, that’s about the length of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.)

I went to Iceland with Tim and his mother because it was on her 80th birthday “bucket list” and she didn’t want to go alone. We were joined by my sister-in-law and two of Mom’s good friends from Brandermill Woods. We went on a “Northern Lights and Lava Fields” tour, run by MWT Associates out of San Jose, CA and even though the lights didn’t cooperate the week we were there, it was still a fantastic trip and one that I heartily recommend.

For one thing, you can book a flight that takes you into Iceland’s Keflavik Airport, spend up to seven nights in the

Small Icelandic horses under a big, moody Icelandic sky

capital city of Reykjavik and then go on to one of several European destinations with no penalty charges. Check out the stopover booking engine on Icelandair’s website for more details. But beyond that, Iceland is a revelation.

I’ll have lots more to tell when I get back. I’m off to Boston this week for the funeral of a dear friend. It will be tough; hold me in your thoughts, please.

Meanwhile, here are a few photos to whet your appetite for the full story. These are remarkable people living in a remarkable environment. Plan to go.

Buon viaggio!

Rhymin’ Simon

Countin’ the cars on the New Jersey turnpike

They’ve all come to look for America, all come to look for America

— Paul Simon

I blame this on the self-proclaimed “cultural concierge” Jesse Kornbluth. If you don’t follow his remarkable blog, Headbutler, stop reading this right now and sign up.

There. Much better.

Jesse’s been an active New York journalist for decades. Over the years you’ve probably seen his name in Vanity Fair, New York, Architectural Digest, Reader’s Digest, The Los AngelesTimes Magazine, Departures, The New Yorker or The New York Times. Man gets around. And I love his insights. I don’t always agree with everything he writes, but he always makes me think and that, my friends, is something of an achievement from the media these days.

Anyway, I was reading one of his pieces last week in which he crowned Paul Simon as our Poet Laureate, and I couldn’t agree more. For 40+ years, Paul Simon has been the voice of our (my) generation. Sure, there’s Bob Dylan and Lennon/McCartney. But, like the Energizer bunny, Paul’s still going. That counts for something.

So I went right out and picked up his new CD, Songwriter, which is a stunning 2-disc collection of the “best of” Paul Simon. Thirty-two songs, from “The Sounds of Silence” all the way up to his latest release, “So Beautiful, or So What?” I was listening to it in my car today and I had to pull off the road when “American Tune” came on. I’d forgotten about it and, as I listened, realized that it could have been written yesterday.

Here’s a clip from the old Dick Cavett show from September 1974, with a young (weren’t we all young in 1974?) Paul singing it: http://youtu.be/l_sl4r0eGVY

And here are the lyrics:
American Tune

— Paul Simon

Many’s the time I’ve been mistaken

And many times confused

Yes, and I’ve often felt forsaken

And certainly misused

But I’m all right, I’m all right

I’m just weary to my bones

Still, you don’t expect to be

Bright and bon vivant

So far away from home, so far away from home

And I don’t know a soul who’s not been battered

I don’t have a friend who feels at ease

I don’t know a dream that’s not been shattered

Or driven to its knees

Oh, but it’s all right, it’s all right

For we’ve lived so well so long

Still, when I think of the road

We’re traveling on

I wonder what’s gone wrong

I can’t help it, I wonder what’s gone wrong

And I dreamed I was dying

And I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly

And looking back down at me

Smiled reassuringly

And I dreamed I was flying

And high up above my eyes could clearly see

The Statue of Liberty

Sailing away to sea

And I dreamed I was flying

Well, we come on the ship they call the Mayflower

We come on the ship that sailed the moon

We come in the age’s most uncertain hours

And sing an American tune

And it’s all right, it’s all right

You can’t be forever blessed

Still, tomorrow’s going to be another working day

And I’m trying to get some rest

That’s all I’m trying to get some rest

Phwew!

I’m going to Iceland (not Graceland) next week, so I’ll have lots to tell when I get back. Maybe even some decent photos of the Northern Lights. Keep your fingers crossed. I’m packing right now and have more layers in my suitcase than a puff pastry…

Buon viaggio!

I am an Italian-American

Happy Columbus Day!

I am an Italian-American

— Angelo Bianchi, Esq., 1982

Arco della Costa, Verona

I am an Italian-American. My roots are deep in an ancient soil, drenched by the Mediterranean sun, and watered by pure streams from snow capped mountains.

I am enriched by thousands of years of culture. My hands are those of the mason, the artist, the man of the soil.

My thoughts have been recounted in the annals of Rome, the poetry of Virgil, the creations of Dante, and the philosophy of Benedetto Croce.

I am an Italian-American, and from my ancient world, I first spanned the seas to the New World.

I am Cristoforo Colombo.

I am Giovanne Caboto, known in American History as John Cabot, discoverer of the mainland of North America.

I am Amerigo Vespucci, who gave my name to the New World, America.

First to sail on the Great Lakes in 1679, founder of the territory that became the State of Illinois, colonizer of Louisiana and Arkansas, I am Enrico Tonti.

I am Filippo Mazzei, friend of Thomas Jefferson, and my thesis on the equality of man was written into the Bill of Rights.

I am William Paca, signer of the Declaration of Independence.

I am an Italian-American; I financed the Northwest Expedition of George Rogers Clark and accompanied him through the lands that would become Ohio, Indiana, Wisconsin and Michigan. I am Colonel Francesco Vigo.

I mapped the Pacific from Mexico to Alaska and to the Philippines; I am Alessandro Malaspina.

I am Giacomo Belinimi, discoverer of the source of the Mississippi River in 1823.

I created the Dome of the United States Capitol. They call me the Michelangelo of America. I am Constantino Brumidi.

In 1904, I founded in San Francisco the Bank of Italy, now known as the Bank of America, the largest financial institution in the world; I am A.P. Giannini.

I am Enrico Fermi, father of nuclear science in America.

I am Steve Geppi, founder of Diamond Comics, the largest distributorship of comics on the planet.

I am the first enlisted man to earn the Medal of Honor in World War II; I am John Basilone of New Jersey.

I am an Italian-American.

I am the million strong who served in America ‘s armies and the tens of thousands whose names are enshrined in military cemeteries from Guadalcanal to the Rhine …

I am the steel maker in Pittsburgh, the grower in the Imperial Valley of California, the textile designer in Manhattan, the movie maker in Hollywood, the homemaker and the breadwinner in over 10,000 communities.

I am an American without stint or reservation, loving this land as only one who understands history, its agonies and its triumphs can love and serve it.

I will not be told that my contribution is any less nor my role not as worthy as that of any other American.

I will stand in support of this nation’s freedom and protect it against all foes.

My heritage has dedicated me to this nation. I am proud of my heritage, and I shall remain worthy of it.

I am an Italian-American.

NOTE: Mr. Bianchi is a former President of the Order Sons of Italy in America.

Asking for it

You can’t ask for what you want unless you know what it is. . . first, you have to figure out what you want. Second, you have to decide that you deserve it. Third, you have to believe you can get it. And, fourth, you have to have the guts to ask for it. — Barbara DeAngelis

Here’s something I hardly ever do: ask for something.

It has been brought to my attention on several occasions that, while many of you think my blog posts are mostly pretty terrific, nobody seems to be commenting on them. And comments are part of the formula for the success of a blog.

Now, you and I know that many of you write immediately to me after reading a post, telling me how much you like something or how you had a similar experience or how I left something out that you think I missed, and so on. But since you do it off the comments box — usually sending me a personal e-mail or going onto my Facebook page — your comments don’t “count.”

Well, of course they count to me. But not to the blog gods, whoever they might be.

So a favor? If you like something or have something to say about the content of a post, can you try to remember to comment using the “Comments” function? It’s easy and it would mean a lot to me.

That’s all the whining for today. Thanks.

Here’s a funny photo from Old Town Fredericksburg (VA) for your troubles.

Buon viaggio!

There’s no place like Ca’Camone

You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition.  What you’ll discover will be wonderful.  What you’ll discover is yourself.  — Alan Alda

So you go to fine restaurants and subscribe to all the “really-this-takes-12-hours-to-make-but-it’s-so-worth-it” fancy gourmet magazines. You’ve even tried the latest wack-o craze from Britain, food foams. Fine. But for a completely different (and eminently saner and more satisfying) kind of foodie experience, I invite you to give the agriturismo La Tavola Marche (MAR-kay) a go. Lovingly run by a young, hard-working American couple, Ashley and Jason Bartner, La Tavola Marche (inn, restaurant and cooking school) is a jewel in the crown of the rugged Italian countryside. And here they have discovered themselves — and so much more.

First, what’s an Agriturismo?

La Tavola Marche — front door

The agriturismo movement began out of necessity as small farmers started to abandon their farms for the cities in the 1950s. To keep the traditions alive, the government codified the agriturismo movement in 1985 and many abandoned buildings were restored, allowing farmers to augment their income from the farm, and for travelers to experience the bounty of rural life in Italy.

Basically, an agriturismo is a working farm that rents rooms and serves food that it produces. To qualify for the tax advantages provided by an agriturismo status, a farm must recycle most of what it raises or grows back into the house. Eighty percent of the food that Jason serves at La Tavola Marche is from his own land or the land of his neighbors.

Jason, a French Culinary Institute-trained chef and Ashley, a former actress and hospitality maven in New York City, found the old farmhouse, Ca’Camone, in 2007 and immediately  knew they wanted to create La Tavola Marche there. They fashioned comfortable living spaces, developed their cooking school and kitchen and have been virtually adopted by the locals over the last four years. The two studied Italian before they left the U.S. and live as close to an authentic Italian lifestyle as possible in this off-the-beaten-track location, bartering with the neighboring farmers for game and recipes and helping each other with projects. In turn, Jason’s cooking has gained quite a reputation among the Marchese, who are often present at Thursday night pizza parties in the summer and at the restaurant itself throughout the year. There is no higher praise.

Ashley says, “When you think you’ve gone too far, you’re almost here!”

They have most definitely left the “city of their comfort” by coming to Le Marche, a stunningly beautiful part of

Try this at home: Zucchini Carpaccio!

Italy that most Americans never see because most tours concentrate on the holy trinity of Rome, Florence and Venice. I urge you to be bold.

Because while the house is some five kilometers off the road, La Tavola Marche is not only a calming respite in the midst of our “elaborate” lives (thank you, Elton John), it is also extremely well-positioned for a versatile holiday, being close enough to visit Umbrian hill towns like Spoleto and Gubbio and very nearby to Urbania and Urbino, a well-known UNESCO World Heritage Site. Urbino’s Casa Rafaella and the Palazzo Ducale are must-sees, and the city is truly one of the most important in all of Italy for anyone in search of great Italian art and architecture. So while it may seem a bit remote, the pool in season is a big draw for the kids and the day trips that are available have something for everybody.

The food’s the thing

The dearly departed Foghorn Leghorn

But when you come to La Tavola Marche, you come to eat — and to learn. Jason is an excellent teacher and I can honestly say that I have never learned more about cooking than I did here. And I’m proud to say that I’ve made several of his dishes back home. In fact, my birthday present from Tim this summer was a de Buyer mandoline, so I can cut those veggies either wafer-thin or in uniform chunks, like many recipes require.

Anyway, when we arrived at the kitchen for our class, the evening’s menu was posted: Antipasti, Primo, Secondo and Dolce. We were going to do it all! Jason has a simple philosophy about the local cucina povere: let the food speak for itself. Don’t drown it in sauce, don’t cook it to death. Let the tomato be a tomato — a little salt, pepper and olive oil, and you’re done. Simple, flavorful. We cooked seven different items and they were all fantastic.

We had just come from a week in Abruzzo and, as in the fabulous neighboring region to the south, the food in

Sharon & Jerry, hard at work on dinner

Marche is hearty, local and very fresh. Because we had asked for a lot of vegetables after the meat-rich Abruzzo experience, Jason happily complied, with lentils, grilled yellow peppers, stuffed eggplant, homemade tagliatelle with porcini and fresh peas, a tomato bread and basil soup, zucchini carpaccio . . . it was a true delight. And his homemade salamis, coupled with the local cheeses, were outstanding. Ashley, the consummate hostess, finished it all off nicely with her homemade digestivo, after-dinner drinks made from a variety of nuts and fruits, like walnut and prune, that were the perfect ending to a perfect meal.

The farmhouse’s five self-catering suites can hold up to 22 people. They’ve hosted weddings, family reunions, language classes and girl’s getaways and will tailor cooking school and local winery tours, truffle and mushroom hunting excursions and olive oil and other farm visits to suit your needs. They’ve even got a chef friend with a boat  in the port town of Fanno who will take you out for lunch or dinner and cook freshly caught fish while you swim in the crisp blue waters of the Adriatic.

Discover yourself — and save the date!

Ashley, Linda & Jason — are we having too much fun?

But the biggest attraction for me and Tim (and our friends Sharon and Jerry, who are getting just a tad snarky now that I don’t mention them every time we go someplace together) was the fact that, to our ancient eyes, it seems like Ashley and Jason have found the secret to happiness. They were old enough (or wise enough) to know that they wanted something beyond the 9-to-5 grind and were young enough (or brave enough) to let go of the proverbial rock and just take a chance. When I asked her how she did it, Ashley simply said, “I thought, why not? We can always go back if it fails.”  The older you get, the more difficult it is to make big decisions like this. I know this from first-hand experience.

So they gladly quit their jobs, packed their things, sent over what they needed and got down to starting a new life. They haven’t been back to the U.S. in four years. They’re making a name for themselves (see who’s making big noises about the place!) and they’re living life to the fullest.

Now, it’s not all collecting checks and good reviews. They rise very early, tend to flocks and crops, keep the menu fresh and updated, deal with snow and frozen pipes, clean and shop and take reservations and deal with customers and cooking schools, meet the press and clean the pool and chop the wood and drive on unpaved roads and have a heck of a time getting internet service and basically do everything they have to do to live and succeed in a foreign language. Not easy. And we get to see it all through their eyes and benefit from their advance work. Be grateful for them and visit them if you have a chance.

I’m hoping to take a group to visit Jason and Ashley next fall — September or October. It will be great. Costs and itinerary will be coming in the next month or so. But save the date, so to speak. You won’t want to miss it, and space is limited.

Trust me, this is the way to see Italy. After you’ve seen the big cities, discover something that you might not find so easily in the guidebooks. It’s hugely rewarding — and very delicious.

Buon viaggio!

730 Days

Don’t fear your mortality, because it is this very mortality that gives meaning and depth and poignancy to all the days that will be granted to you — Paul Tsongas

I had a birthday earlier this month, and it got me to thinking. Birthdays have a way of doing that as you get older, don’t they? This one got me to thinking that I was turning 62 and how the hell did that happen? It also got me to thinking about my mother and her father, both of whom died at 64.

In 1967, when I was 18 years old, the Beatles released a catchy little number called “When I’m 64” on their Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album and anybody who doesn’t know what an album is can stop reading right now. A newly minted college freshman, I thought it was a quaint song about old people. Now it seems that Lennon and McCartney were wrong. I am not losing my hair, I am not wasting away and I most certainly do not need anybody to feed me or need me. Or am I? Do I?

I have to say that the spectre of “64” looms large in my thoughts, both conscious and unconscious. Longevity is not particularly rampant in my family. Of course, there could be a truck out there with my name on it tomorrow, but you never know. And that’s the point.

So I got to thinking: What if I suddenly started taking after my mother’s side of the family and my number really was up at 64? What if I really only had 730 days left? What would I do? What would I want to accomplish, complete, start? A sort of a bucket list, I suppose. Tim and I are going to Iceland with his mother and sister in November because that was on his mom’s 80th birthday bucket list in June. Cool, huh?

Mom and me in better days

I think about my mother at this age. At 62, she was old. My father had uprooted her from her home in the suburbs of New York City to the west coast of Florida and she was miserable. She hated the heat and missed the snow and the city and never exercised a day in her life. She basically sat in a chair in Palm Harbor and waited to die. It was horrible.

Some days I feel like I want to retire (whatever that means in today’s economy and whatever it means for someone who, as a freelancer in this economy, has been semi-retired for much of the past 20 years). And then some days I still wonder what I want to be when I grow up. Like many of you, I also sit bolt upright in bed at three a.m., going over endless (and pointless) to-do lists, stuffing down regrets and trying to deal with the fear. 730 days is a whole different kind of fear.

So what do I want to do? Here’s my list:

  • Learn Italian — for real
  • Walk more
  • Spend more time back up north
  • Live in Italy for a few months
  • Lose that 10 pounds (oh hell, I shouldn’t even care about that one any more!)
  • Write another book
  • Laugh more
  • Read everything
  • Eat very, very well
  • Loosen up a bit
  • Dance more
  • Love more
  • Travel as much as I can (even John and Paul mentioned something about a little cottage on the Isle of Wight)

Yeah, I know — I won’t get to do it all. But at least I’m focused now. And I can start. And if I get more than the 730 days, I just might finish.

Well — what’s on your list? Make it. Do it. Have the time of your life.

Buon viaggio!

Tears

You is kind . . . you is smart . . . you is important — Aibilene Clark, The Help

Short one today.

There have been two books in my life that brought me to tears. The first one was Zora Neale Hurston’s masterpiece, Their Eyes Were Watching God. I read it in Bermuda, with its insistent tropical winds driving me from page to page. I closed the book and wept.

The second time was more recent, when my friend Sharon told me I should pick up a book called The Help by a writer named Kathleen Stockett. I opted for the audiobook version to keep me company on an all-night train to Boston last spring and, like most well-read audiobooks, it kept me awake and riveted for hours. I never slept. Obviously, it’s an instant classic, beautifully written and exceedingly important.

Then Sharon and I dragged our husbands to see the movie last Friday. “Uh-oh,” I could hear them thinking, “chick flick.” Women outnumbered men in the audience 50:1. We assured them that this was not a chick flick. Anyway, I hope more men go and see it.

I’m often terrified of book-to-movie adaptations, but this one was good. Maybe great. Sure, there are scenes that have been left out, but the movie stands alone as a complete story and, hey, it’s already two and a half hours long! If you loved the book, you won’t be disappointed. My favorite part of the movie actually came while the credits were rolling. The audience applauded. In Richmond, Virginia, the audience applauded. I was over the moon. More tears. Maybe we’ve learned something, after all.

But it gets better.

At church on Sunday, Pastor Jon not only mentioned the movie during his sermon, but he adapted Abileen’s benediction for us as we stood to close the service: You are kind . . . you are smart . . . you are important. Then he added, You are blessed. You got it. More tears. I admit it: I’m a softie.

So what does this have to do with travel and travel writing? Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Pick up the books. Go see the movie. Be transported. See how far we’ve come. And how far we still have to go.

Buon viaggio!

Italian Tours

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Led by author and blogger Linda Dini Jenkins and her husband, Tim, Travel Italy the Write Way tours are small group, intimate experiences where the locals take the lead. Linda and Tim have forged strong relationships with winery owners, cheese and olive oil producers, chefs, hoteliers, ex-pats and others who, together, will give you an experience you’ll never forget. LEARN MORE…

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If you’re looking for an exceptional self-catering experience, consider Casa Linda in the heart of old Sulmona, one of the most beautiful small cities in Abruzzo. Less than two hours from Rome’s Fiumicino airport, Sulmona has everything you need for a relaxing holiday. It’s also close to the beach and skiing/hiking areas. Casa Linda is a charming, well-appointed apartment, lovingly restored by one of the area’s preeminent architects, just steps from the Cathedral of San Panfilo at the edge of the Villa Communale (city park). LEARN MORE…

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Writing has long been Linda’s passion, and she started writing about Italy nearly 20 years ago. Travel Italy the Write Way combines her love for Italy with her love for travel writing, blogging, and finding new ways to tell about the experience of travel in both prose and poetry.

Even if you can’t travel with her in person just yet:

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Thinking about going to Italy?

Here are a few reasons to travel with Travel Italy the Write Way Tours and Linda and Tim Jenkins: We create unforgettable experiences for small groups of travelers (never more than 12 people) who don’t like tours. Why “the write way?” Writing is something Linda does all the time when we travel; if you would like some journaling tips, just ask and she’ll set some time aside for a little “workshop.” We always provide you with a journal, anyway, just in case you get inspired. We always provide you with some free time and are happy to help with suggestions for touring sites and restaurants. The reason we do not include airfare in our trips is that we want to…

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