If you let it, Italy will blow your mind. — Mario Scalzi

It happened quite by accident, and I was hooked. My first trip to Italy — back in the Spring of 2000 — was organized by some friends who said that we would be renting a villa. I had no idea what to expect. I looked up the word “villa” and here’s what I found: (a) a large, luxurious house in the country or (b) a house rented for a vacation. I immediately saw the potential discrepancy between these two definitions, but decided to go, anyway. Soon we were in the planning stages (all eight of us) and I felt a lot better about the whole thing. We opted for a five-bedroom place without a pool way out in the country about 18 miles northeast of Florence. All in all, it was a fabulous experience, and one that Tim and I have repeated many times.

More than half of the villas we’ve rented have been from Parker Villas, whose president and founder, Mario Scalzi, agreed to talk with me about how he came to be in this business, what he expects from his property owners and how Americans should approach a villa vacation. I hope you’ll be inspired to contact Parker next time you’re looking for a getaway, whether it’s a one-week vacation, a destination wedding or a family reunion. This is the way to see Italy.

LINDA: Thanks for talking with me today, Mario. First, can you tell us a little about your background and how you got started in the villa rental business?

For more Mario, see www.accessitaly.com

MARIO: Thanks for having me, Linda. Well, it was 1993 and I was Vice President of Sales for a high tech company selling consulting services all over the world. I was based in London, having a great time and making good money. I had bought a little house in Tuscany and when I ended a contract, I decided that I’d take some time off. So I rented the little house and that’s how this thing kind of got started. It felt good to have people call and say, “I really had the time of my life.” So it’s never been about the money. I mean, you need money to operate, and you have to be profitable. But the satisfaction comes from doing it right.

LINDA: What’s your favorite part of Italy and why?

MARIO: I’d have to say Tuscany and Umbria because they’re those great “green places.” You go there and you just melt.

LINDA: Where do people most want to go in Italy — and has that changed over the years?

MARIO: It hasn’t really changed. Most people want to go to the same places: Tuscany, Umbria, the Amalfi Coast, the Lakes. The art cities of Rome, Florence and Venice.  But more importantly, Americans want go where the movie was shot . . . where the book was written. Before Under the Tuscan Sun nobody had ever heard of Cortona; they didn’t know Tuscany from a hole in the wall. Frances Mayes put Tuscany on the map. And there are others — Enchanted April put the Italian Riviera on the map.  Tea With Mussolini didn’t hurt. Stealing Beauty. A Month By The Lake. . . We want to go to places that we’ve heard about: Rome, Venice, Florence, Umbria, the Amalfi Coast, the Lakes. But then we want to go to the places that have inspired us in the movies.

LINDA:  Where would you like first-timers to Italy to go?

MARIO: I’d like first-timers to go to Tuscany or Umbria, because that’s where the eye candy is. They’re going to look out and see those beautiful fields and all those stone buildings and fall in love. The other thing that a first-time traveler should do is rent a managed property. We have a new property in Tuscany called Porta del Chianti, for example, which has on-site management that’s there every day. So they will make restaurant reservations, tell you what you shouldn’t miss and who’s making the best food because of what’s in season. If you want daily maid service they can arrange it, and they’ll even bring you a buffet breakfast every morning if that’s what you want.

The water's fine at Porta del Chianti

First-time travelers need to go to a place where everything around them is beautiful, that’s in close proximity to a few important destinations and has services included that provide them with suggestions and help. Mind you, a managed property is not the same as a five-star hotel, in that nobody’s going to come in at three o’clock in the morning and bring you a ham sandwich. But you get far more than just the key to a house and a few pamphlets.

LINDA:  Where would you like to see people go so they can see something unique or unexpected?

MARIO: I’d like the art and architecture lovers to go to the art cities of the North — Parma, Verona, Treviso, Padova, Ferrara, Vicenza — because they’re beyond belief. And the people lovers, the experiential travelers . . . I’d love them to go to Abruzzo. The inquisitive friendliness of the Abruzzese is real. And the food is out of this world.

LINDA: Do you have any properties in Abrruzzo?

The piazza in Sulmona, Abruzzo

MARIO: I have one place in Sulmona, where George Clooney was just doing a movie. It’s called Cuoco d’Oro  and is a big, gorgeous place that’s beautifully priced. The city is great and the villa is right off the main square.

LINDA: How is renting a villa different from staying in a hotel?

MARIO: The primary difference is cost. Renting a villa is far cheaper than getting all those hotel rooms. And there’s an added benefit, too. Where do you hang out in a hotel? The lobby? Do we all sit around my bed? The other thing is you want to make the vacation as fun as possible and the packing and unpacking is not the greatest part of any vacation. So when you’re in a villa, you unpack once and you can go out in different directions – it all depends on your limitations. Some people will go from Tuscany to Venice, 3.5 hours, and make it a day trip. You should draw a circle around your villa for as far as you think you can go in a day and use that as your guide. That way you can see all kinds of things, whether it’s big cities or just peaceful scenery and tiny little towns. And you can have an espresso in anybody’s piazza and it’s always going to be wonderful.

But to me the most important thing is perhaps the experience. Because a hotel is a hotel, whether it’s in Moscow or St. Petersburg, Florida. When you’re renting a home, part of the experience you enjoy is actually that home itself. You want to go a few steps to the outdoor market and haggle over the artichoke just for the fun of it. Who cares if, when you get home, you have no idea what to do with the darn thing? The fun was being able to go and put it in your little bag . . . it was part of the experience.

A villa lets groups spend quality time together. People often just look at the money aspect of it and say, “Oh boy, this is a real deal.”  But it’s more than that. On the other hand, some people belong in hotels. Because if you want to be served breakfast in bed every day, then this probably isn’t for you.

LINDA: How does Parker Villas choose its villas? What do you look for in a rental property?

MARIO: We choose a property by visiting it and by meeting the people. Many companies these days have 6,000 rentals on their site – they don’t see anything in person. They get an offer from somebody to list their property and get the owner’s description and the owner’s photos and that’s it. We have very few properties at Parker Villas — but we visit every single one. If the place isn’t clean, we immediately walk out. If it doesn’t have air conditioning, we can negotiate that, but it has to be clean. In fact, in some cases, we talk to owners two years before the property is listed just so we can advise about bedrooms and bathrooms (we like an even ratio of the two) and A/C and so on. Good owners will work with us to make their property attractive to the American market. Understanding who we are as renters and who the Italians are helps us to bridge the gap between the two.

The villas we rent are exclusive to us. And exclusivity is important for two reasons: (1) it prevents double bookings (when you’re on 50,000 websites, how can you keep track?) and (2) when the owner derives 100% of his or her income from us, s/he is going to be a lot more responsive when my customer has an issue.

LINDA: What should travelers look for in a villa? Is there anything that you think people sometimes overlook?

MARIO:  The first thing villa renters should concern themselves with is sleeping arrangements and the ratio of bedrooms to bathrooms. And they have to think about it carefully. We usually rent to groups of 6 or 8 or 12. And when we talk to them we find out that Aunt Mary can’t do steps and she needs a bathroom with a wide shower because she’s got mobility issues. And we say, well, there is such a bathroom here but it’s up 20 steps so this is not the villa for you. And it’s disappointing, because they’re looking at a picture of the most beautiful villa in the world. So we work with them to find one that meets all their needs, but we start with the sleeping arrangements.

The second thing is driving. Most Americans are OK with doing a country road for about a mile. So that beautiful property four miles up a country road? We let it go. Because the customer base has changed. When I started this business, most people were expecting the country road. But today’s customer isn’t. He or she is expecting to find all the comforts of home behind a 1,000-year-old façade in an easy-to-get-to place. From there they can spoke out in different directions and go wherever they want. And that’s what we focus on finding for them. And about driving: realistically, you should plan on having one car for every four people. That allows for flexibility during your stay and keeps larger groups out of mini-vans, an experience which gets old after about two days.

LINDA:  Sometimes, something goes wrong. A key is lost. Or the lights go out. How do you handle things like this?

MARIO: If you’re in a managed property, someone is always there to help. But even if you’re not, in every single property we rent there’s a caretaker who works for the owner. So whether the caretaker lives a mile away or next door, there’s always somebody who’s responsible for that property that you can easily reach. That’s the first line of defense.

With any villa rental company, anywhere in the world, there’s always a keyholder somewhere. If you lose your key or the water heater dies, you go to the keyholder.  But what Parker does is go a step beyond that. We have our own office in Italy and we provide customer service 7 days/week. So if something goes wrong, you pick up the phone and call an Italian phone number and once you state your name, that person knows exactly where you’re staying because they’re our employees and are on the same system we’re on. And if the caretaker or homeowner was not able to resolve the problem, that’s when Parker steps in. We’ll either attempt to resolve the problem or, if the problem is of a major nature — like you’re going to be out of hot water for two days — we’ll just pick you up and move you to another villa at our expense.

The motivation behind our aggressive customer service is that we are Americans. Unlike Europeans —who have a month of vacation — we Americans (if we’re lucky) get two weeks a year. If that two weeks gets messed up – that’s it. To us, the sanctity of the American vacation is why we do this. And I think that’s why we have such a loyal following. We want to run our business in a way that keeps people coming back to us and that makes us all proud.

LINDA: Given the current economic situation, have you had to adapt your business at all to meet people’s changing needs?

MARIO: Rather than attempting the “sale” strategy that I see with other travel companies, we’ve been renegotiating lower prices with 80% of our owners. It’s not about having a sale. It’s about going forward into the future. Remember: I’m the exclusive guy, and I want repeat business. We’re not in the listing business; we’re the company that says to you, “This is our recommendation.” So our reputation is on the line every day.

What we’ve done is go back to the owners and say, You know what? You’ve got to give a good deal and a good deal more. So you’ve got to do a little something extra. How about you – you’re in the wine business. How about doing a free wine tasting in your cellar for these people? You’re a chef? Great. Why don’t we have a pizza night? It’s going to be part of the experience. We’re going to list it in the description and say that during the week that you’re there, the owners will . . . You get the idea.

So it’s not just about lower prices, it’s also about providing even more value. And we’ve been working very hard to deliver that.

LINDA:  How do people find Parker Villas? And what should they do if they want to rent a villa with you?

MARIO: They simply go to our website at www.parkervillas.com, where they can search all of our properties and see what suits them — location, size, amenities, and so on. Then they can call us directly at 1-800-280-2811 or go online and book something — but if you’re in the States, going online will trigger a phone call from us, during which time we’ll ask a lot of questions to make sure it’s the right place for you.

LINDA: Thank you!

MARIO: My pleasure. It’s been fun.

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

The trouble with eating Italian food is that five or six days later  you’re hungry again. — George Miller

My dancin' and cookin' stool

The little wooden stool has been in my house forever. Ever since my grandfather died, at least, and we cleaned out his house. My father was going to throw it away. I said no.

The stool has no value whatsoever. It’s just one of those common pine stools you used to see a lot in the 1950s; my grandparents probably bought it at Woolworth’s or W.T. Grant in Freeport, New York where they lived. It still has a price scrawled in red crayon on the bottom of the seat: $3.49. Why do I care so much about this worthless little stool? Because it’s the same stool my grandfather taught me to dance on. He’d put me up there when I was a little girl and hold my hands, twirling me around like one of those ballerinas who spun madly in place in a little girl’s mirrored jewelry box.

But — and this is really more important — this is the stool my grandmother dragged over to the stove while she cooked. She put me up there and showed me what she was doing: stirring sauces, adding seasonings, pounding chicken  . . . you name it, I watched. And I learned. Because of her, I lighten up the ricotta in my lasagna filling with eggs. Because of her, I keep the mappines ever-present on my left shoulder while I prepare the meal. My husband says I have a certain way of adding spices to the pot and cheese to the finished plate — if that’s true, it comes from her, too. And don’t get me started on salting the sliced eggplant to remove the bitterness . . .it used to sit in a colander on a plate in the refrigerator, a heavy iron weighing down the upside-down plate on top of the pile, forcing the brownish juices out overnight.

Mind you, I was only six years old when my grandmother died. She was not a big woman — but she was about as wide as she was tall. And she made an impact. No formal education, but able to do compound interest in her head. She would take her husband’s cash salary to the store in a grease-stained paper bag and do her shopping to the humiliation of her two boys. I never saw her without a flowered dress on and an apron on over that. Her graying hair was tucked up into a net and her kitchen smelled of olives and basil. She knew how to stretch a dollar (and a pound of ground beef) so hard that my father used to say that in his little Catholic family you could even eat the meatballs on Friday.

Well, I grew up loving food — and cooking it. And eating it. Too much of it, sometimes. My lifetime member status in Weight Watchers® can attest to that. But I always love to read new cookbooks, and when I heard about Two Meatballs in the Italian Kitchen last year, I just had to have it. Written by Tuscan chef extraordinaire Pino Luongo and Queens, NY native and top chef Mark Strausman, Two Meatballs in the Italian Kitchen is a delightful read and a great resource for anybody who loves Italian food. Its more than 150 recipes just might bring tears to your eyes. And their introductions to each section of the book will most certainly have you in tears, but for a different reason.

The unique thing about Meatballs is that it is not just a cookbook — it’s a conversation between two

Two Italian chefs are better than one!

professional chefs, both true believers in Italian cuisine, as well as former partners in Manhattan’s legendary, but alas now closed, Coco Pazzo restaurant for more than 20 years. Listen to the two of them argue about the right way to make eggplant parmigiana and risotto. Read as they almost come to blows over the best way to cook a meatball: small, in olive oil? Or American-sized, simmering in tomato sauce? It’s all about fresh, simple foods approached from two different perspectives: the “authentic” Italian who brings his culture and traditions with him into the kitchen and the New Yorker with a culinary school background and an appreciation for the occasional shortcut and (to a degree) the American palate.

This is a delightful book and an important addition to any Italian cook’s bookshelf. It is a joy to read and provides as much information as any first-rate Italian cooking class could convey, right down to the wine pairings with each recipe. There’s a sign over the kitchen door in one of my favorite Italian restaurants here in Midlothian that says Mangia e statti zitto. It’s all you need to know. Go out and get Two Meatballs in the Italian Kitchen, cook something wonderful — and Shut up and Eat!

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all this fiddle . . .

— Marianne Moore

If you were forced to sit through hours of classroom time slogging through the seemingly incomprehensible — word upon word, stanza upon stanza of ghastly rhyme and meter, archaic language and even more arcane concepts — well . . . welcome to the club. The Poetry Hater’s Club. Teacher stood up front and read dramatically from a dusty old book and then asked you the most soul-numbing question you could imagine: What does this MEAN?

There are only two real answers to this question. One: How the heck should I know? And, two, Who the heck cares? Honestly, they should issue licenses to teach poetry just so this kind of thing doesn’t happen . . .

I wrote my first poem at the age of eight, a little four-line masterpiece about how much I hated April Fool’s Day. It was published in the Massapequa Public School District anthology, a smart collection of ditties from students aged 7 through 17 that was mimeographed, stapled in the upper left-hand corner of its canary yellow cover sheet and sent home with us students. From that moment, in that simple act of publication, I was hooked. I was going to be a poet. This, in spite of the years of classroom humiliation and utter bleak textual confusion that lay ahead . . . I was determined to be a poet.

Years passed. I continued to write. And today I consider myself to be something of a professional poet. But since I do not teach poetry in an academic situation, I get pretty much nothing for it. No compensation other than the sweet satisfaction of stringing together some words in a pleasant enough way so that my husband and friends don’t cringe too much when they read what I’ve written. No compensation other than the satisfaction of sharing my love of creative word management with strangers in my workshops who come to learn that they, too,  have something important to say. It’s okay. I’ve even convinced a few small magazines and a book publisher that I was worthy of publication. That’s all the encouragement I need. It doesn’t take much.

But since 1996, I’ve taken comfort in poetry in yet another way. That’s when The Academy of American Poets established National Poetry Month — 30 days during which time poetry is once again brought to the attention of the media and the public at large. Why? To increase the visibility and availability of poetry in our popular culture, which is today in desperate need of something more profound and life-affirming than the next “rose ceremony.”

So for nearly two decades now, GOOD teachers, librarians, poets and booksellers have been turning their attention to poetry during the month of April. In classrooms and libraries. In bookstores. On community stages. And with the help of some government agencies, even in buses and subways. The ultimate purpose? To encourage poetry readership year-round, of course. Here are the goals of National Poetry Month:

• Highlight the extraordinary legacy and ongoing achievement of American poets
• Introduce more Americans to the pleasures of reading poetry
• Bring poets and poetry to the public in immediate and innovative ways
• Make poetry a more important part of the school curriculum
• Increase the attention paid to poetry by national and local media
• Encourage increased publication, distribution, and sales of poetry books
• Increase public and private philanthropic support for poets and poetry

You can tell I’m a true believer, can’t you? With apologies to Paul, when I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary Oliver comes to me . . . or Edna St. Vincent Millay. . . or Linda Pastan . . . or Marvin Bell and William Matthews, if I’m in need of a dash of wry.

I invite you to check out the Academy’s website and see how you, too, can participate in National Poetry Month, which is now the largest literary celebration in the world. For starters, you can participate in “Poem in Your Pocket” day on April 29. If you’re a teacher, you can get free poetry lesson plans and tip sheets. If you’re a bookseller or librarian, you can get free tipsheets, too. An easy way to participate is to look around your community for local poetry readings and slams — even better, write a poem yourself and show up for an open mike night somewhere!

The most important thing is to shake off the old memories of bad English teachers and what they made you do: memorize pointlessly, look for the “one true meaning” in a poem, stifle your own creativity as you tried to put pen to paper. It doesn’t have to be that way, folks. It’s a new day. Finish the Marianne Moore poem that I began this post with. Travel with her into those “imaginary gardens with real toads in them.” It’ll be okay. I promise.

Buon viaggio!

Poetry

by Marianne Moore

I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond

all this fiddle.

Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one

discovers in

it after all, a place for the genuine.

Hands that can grasp, eyes

that can dilate, hair that can rise

if it must, these things are important not because a

high-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because

they are

useful. When they become so derivative as to become

unintelligible,

the same thing may be said for all of us, that we

do not admire what

we cannot understand: the bat

holding on upside down or in quest of something to

eat, elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a roll, a tireless

wolf under

a tree, the immovable critic twitching his skin like a horse

that feels a flea, the base-

ball fan, the statistician–

nor is it valid

to discriminate against “business documents and

school-books”; all these phenomena are important. One must make

a distinction

however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the

result is not poetry,

nor till the poets among us can be

“literalists of

the imagination”–above

insolence and triviality and can present

for inspection, “imaginary gardens with real toads in them,”

shall we have

it. In the meantime, if you demand on the one hand,

the raw material of poetry in

all its rawness and

that which is on the other hand

genuine, you are interested in poetry.

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

Airplane travel is nature's way of making you look like your 

passport photo. — Al Gore

The welcoming committee

Sometimes it’s best just to get in the car. That’s what we did almost as soon as we moved to Virginia. We headed south and west, about 200 miles, to Floyd County. After living a combined 15 years in Boston and then Salem, Mass. — both cities — we were eager to get back out into the country. We’d spent a glorious year in Vermont and dedicated almost every Sunday to a nearly extinct American pastime: the Sunday drive. This was our chance. Cows and barns and green fields and miles of nothing. And there was another motive, too. Music. Floyd County is famous for music.

I’d heard something on NPR about Floyd and its Friday night music traditions. A featured act or two on the “mainstage” — a rigged-up stage in the back of the Country Store — with a nominal admission charge (we paid $3.00 each) and hours of listening pleasure. This is pickin’ country, and the performers are deep into Bluegrass, Old Time and traditional Country Music. Best of all, when you exit the Country Store the evening continues: you find soloists, duets and small combos on every corner and in every parking lot throughout the downtown. Crowds of admirers cluster around each one to listen and sometimes chime in with a vocal or instrumental riff. We drifted from one group to another, practically mesmerized by the talent evident in this place. And it happens every Friday night. And then there’s FloydFest — a world music and arts festival for four days in July — featuring Rock, Bluegrass, Reggae, Folk, Cajun,  Zydeco, African, World and Appalachian performers right there with art, dance and pottery classes, storytelling and poetry readings, and more. It takes place on the outskirts of town and has been going on for nearly 10 years. But how did all this happen? Why Floyd which, in reality, is in (as my husband would say) the back of beyond? Here’s the story.

Where the action is

In the mid-to-late 1600s, the area that is now Floyd County was principally an Indian hunting ground. The first white settlements in the area are traced by historians to the mid-1700s, but it wasn’t until 1831 that the county was officially formed by an act of the Virginia General Assembly. Floyd was created from neighboring Montgomery County and it was named after the governor of Virginia, John Floyd. For generations, farming, textiles and mining (nickel, cobalt, iron, copper, arsenic and soapstone) were its primary industries and Floyd continued to be a quiet, fairly isolated community on the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains. And then came the 1960s.

Floyd was discovered by the “back to the land” movement of the late 60s and early 70s. Not only did groups come here seeking rural refuge, they also brought their arts with them: music, weaving, dance, pottery, yoga — and made their own opportunities for creative living. And this same “culture of creativity” now attracts many visitors to Floyd to take in the local beauty and the surrounding sites: Chateau Morrisette and Villa Appalaccia wineries, The Floyd Country Store, The Jacksonville Center for the Arts, Floydfest, The Pickin’ Porch (for acoustic music makers and music lovers), 16 Hands pottery studio, the June Bug Center for performing arts and the Harvest Moon food store.

Today, Floyd is part of The Crooked Road, Virginia’s Heritage Music Trail, which winds through the mountains of Southwest Virginia. They say that the music along The Crooked Road is as beautiful and rugged as the land itself. If you travel along The Crooked Road Music Trail you’ll experience authentic mountain music right where it was born. And you’ll have eight major chances to try it: Ralph Stanley Museum, Country Cabin II, Carter Family Fold (yes, THAT Carter), Birthplace of Country Music Alliance, Rex Theater and Old Fiddler’s Convention, Blue Ridge Music Center, Floyd Country Store and County Sales, and the Blue Ridge Institute and Museum of Ferrum College, which for 30+ years has documented the folkways of the people living in and around the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Ambrosia Farm B&B at dawn

We never made it to FloydFest, but we will. We just stumbled upon an ordinary Friday night in Floyd and had a ball. We stayed at Ambrosia Farm Bed & Breakfast, an antiques-laden refurbished farmhouse with a large pasture that offers beautiful sunset views. turkeys and deer. The Inn’s gracious owners are Caroline and Craig. Caroline holds an MFA in ceramic sculpture and is a professional artist and teacher. She conducts summer art camps for kids and various art-related activities for all ages throughout the year. Craig is a registered engineer who has focused his career on improving the energy efficiency of the buildings in which we live, learn and work. We talked to them so long after we had “checked out” that by rights  they should have charged us for an extra day. Later we toured the grounds and outbuildings and even found the pottery studio. Maybe one day we’ll go back and I’ll watch Tim try his own hand at the wheel.

Breathe . . .

The arts are alive in Floyd County and so are hand-crafted wine and spectacular views every way you look. I love the mountains. I love breathing in the crisp morning air. I adore watching the hay being rolled in an empty field. I highly recommend Floyd. Skip the airplane travel for now and see something local. Find your own Floyd. Then tell us about it.

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I ended up where I needed to be. — Douglas Adams

I can’t remember how we happened upon Montagnana, exactly. Seven years ago, in 2003, Tim and I were taking a break from our larger group of eight, and he and I and our friend Gus had gone off on our own. Out for a day’s drive in the countryside, we went a little to the north and a little to the east, and followed signs for a place called Arquà Petrarca, only to discover that it was the home of the medieval poet Petrarch (of sonnet fame) in his later years. His desk and mummified cat are still there, and the small house is nestled among lush gardens in the shadow of the Eugenean Hills. It was a nice discovery and a very pleasant way to spend an hour or so. Back in the car, we headed in the general direction of the villa and found, a little to the south and west, the walled city of Montagnana. And it’s kind of a knock-your-socks off place in a very subtle way.

One of the 24 towers

For here in the Veneto, in the Province of Padova, about 9500 people  live in a medieval walled city containing a bustling piazza, a splendid Gothic-Renaissance cathedral and the Palazzo (Villa) Pisani, built in 1565 by Italy’s most renown architect, Andrea Palladio. (It is even rumored that Palladio lived here for a time.) On that first visit, the three of us walked through the Padova Gate, one of four gates into the city, which leads right into the villa that Palladio made for its owner, Federico Pisani. Four gateways and 24 towers to defend itself by! It was a quiet time that day, late June and perfect weather. We ate a simple lunch at an outdoor caffe and then walked under the porticoes and looked into the shops.

The beautifully ornate porticoes

Like most Italian villages do, this one surprised me: the quality of the shops and the merchandise therein is staggering. What these shops offer — combined with what the weekly markets bring in — create a self-sufficiency that reduces the need to venture into Venice or Bologna or Milan or any of the larger cities more than a few times each year. While most of the shops were closed this time of day, one shop was open, and we looked in with interest. It was a beautiful wine shop called Caffetteria Enoteca and with only a little difficulty, we learned that the proprietor’s name was Gianluca Tomanin. He gave us his card and we asked if he knew of our favorite dessert wine, a Malvasia di Lipari, which I have written about here before. He not only knew it, he knew that the wine produced by Carlo Hauner, the father (recently deceased), was better than that which was being created now by the son. With not too many words in common, we muddled through a conversation and bought a few bottles of wine — a malvasia and two local wines that he recommended. We went away happy, and I knew we’d be back.

It took six years, but we finally returned. Tim and I and our friends Jim and Judy were staying at the same villa we had stayed at years before. We were on our way to Vicenza to see La Rotunda and all the other Palladian villas and thought this would make a perfect first stop — and a lunch break. It was even better the second time.

Salami & cheese, anyone?

We happened to come on market day, and the stalls were mostly closing up. Only a few stalwarts remained on the piazza, and Tim and Jim took full advantage. Cheese and salami made for an excellent pre-lunch snack, especially the “Prosciutto Dolce di Montagnana” that the city is famous for. But before we ate a proper lunch, we had to visit the local church. From the outside, Il Duomo di Santa Maria Assunta is a tall but simple brick building that dominates the piazza. Built between 1431 and 15602, it was named for St. Assumption, the patroness of Montagnana, whose day is celebrated each year on August 15. But the building is deceiving.

When construction of the cathedral began in 1431, the Venetian Gothic style was in vogue. It was completed  in 1502,  in a period dominated by Renaissance architecture, which helps explain the huge difference in style between the outer structure (simple brick) and interior of the building, with its ornate altars, incredible Carrara marble and many fine paintings. Visitors can see the Transfiguration by Veronese and three works by Bonconsiglio, among others.  From simple painted walls to wildly ornate (and some gruesome) canvases — including the Battle of Lepanto by DeRossi — the duomo is a fascinating place to while away some time. Judy and I were confused by one high pulpit with a carved human fist extending over the edge. A candleholder? Don’t know. But the baptismal font was impressive and the various altars and the shell motifs over them were breathtaking.

A woman was taking care of the church while we were there — cleaning the altars and the woodwork, arranging flowers, turning off lights as it neared noontime. She told us she was going to lock the front door and go to lunch but that we could stay as long as we liked, as long as we left by the side door and made sure it was locked when we left. The only ones in the church, we had been entrusted with the treasures of heaven. A little stunned, we looked around some more and then did as we were told, exiting the side door, making sure it was locked tight and going in search of lunch.

The Baptismal Font

The marble altar

I remembered the restaurant we had been to years before; I even brought the card with me. Not the fancy Aldo Moro Hotel e Ristorante, no, for us the Caffee Loggia, across the street from the church. Not only was the food terrific (again), we struck up a friendship with the Romanian-born waitress, Lia. She spent a lot of time with us (things had calmed down now, this being September) and even arranged for comp glasses of limoncello. We tried to fix her up with a waiter we had met in Mantova, and I wonder if she ever called him. We do what we can to improve international relations.

I don’t know what it is about this little city. In some ways, it feels something like a time warp, all isolated and walled in and everything. But in other ways it is typical of the sophisticated northern Italian city, just on a smaller scale, and it’s doing fine, thank you very much. I was startled to see — among the trailers for the mercato and the centuries-old buildings — a poster for the local theatre (Cinema Bellini) advertising the latest Harry Potter movie. Civilization is not passing this place by (if you call movies a trace of civilization!) but it’s not getting the better of it, either. With its antiques market the third Sunday of every month, a slew of restaurants to choose from and a rather unique duomo and piazza, I’d say Montagnana is worthy of a visit. Just don’t tell too many people about it — I like it just the way it is!

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

“. . . if you can’t pull forth the riches of a place, don’t blame the place, blame yourself, because it is you who are not rich enough to pull them . . .” — Rilke

Tough words, especially for travel writers. We’re supposed to be so observant, so adept at translating our experiences and emotions into word pictures for our readers. At creating something that makes readers want to go where we’ve been, experience what we’ve experienced. A friend once called them “wordscapes.” It’s not always so easy.

I was recently invited to make a presentation about poetry at a writers conference here in Virginia. I thought: since I’m so steeped in the idea of travel right now, why not make it a travel poetry workshop, and we’ll even do a little writing? I’m pleased to say that it was a success, but the preparation and development of the workshop was a real education for me.

Knowing that “the journey” has been a constant and venerable theme in literature — from the Book of Exodus to Pilgrim’s Progress to Gulliver’s Travels and Don Quixote — I looked for the same theme in poetry. Sure enough, there are several among the greats: The Odyssey, of course. Canterbury Tales. The Divine Comedy. Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. On a more contemporary front, I located two helpful books: Deep Travel, subtitled “contemporary American poets abroad,” edited by Prof. Sandra Meek and Songs for the Open Road, edited by the American Poetry & Literacy Project, which collected some of the classics, from Lord Byron and Edna St. Vincent Millay to Robert Frost and John Keats.

The poet Alfred Corn once wrote that every poem is a travel poem because of the inherent nature of what poetic language does. You have to enter into it. Poetry transforms language into something “rich and strange” — almost like the foreign languages we face when we travel abroad.

Armed with this knowledge, I was off. I had a topic that was worthy of study. I asked my students what they wrote about, how and when they journaled, if they had ever translated some of their journaling to poetry. Some had, and I was delighted.

We talked about what the very word “travel” conjured up for them. Vacations came up, of course. But also military service, peace corps and other volunteer opportunities and even going back to where you grew up. Then they added: what about going to work? Walking on the beach or through the woods? What about dreaming? Yes, I said. I think all of these constitute travel.

Then we talked about journaling — or capturing our experiences — and what to be aware of as we journal. Where are we? Why? How did we get here? What have we seen? Felt? Smelled? Tasted? What have we seen that we didn’t expect to see? What didn’t we see that we expected to see? When and where were we most afraid? Why? Who did we meet? How did it feel to be an outsider?

We talked about what kinds of things we could write about: history, architecture, food (my favorite!), a specific adventure, a mishap, people, politics, emotions, language, expectations . . . this list is endless. And I gave them a few ground rules:

(1) Travel journals are first drafts — you don’t have to show them to anybody, and don’t have to worry about grammar or punctuation.

(2) Get down the “memory triggers” first — don’t try to write full-blown prose or poetry the first time or you’ll likely miss something incredible while you’re holed up in your room writing — and you can always flesh things out later.

(3) Try sketching. Even if you’re not an “artist,” your drawings will remind you of what you saw, and might even become companion pieces to your written words.

(4) A tip from author Lavinia Spalding: when you’re on the road, send yourself postcards. When you get home, you’ll have a pictorial memory of the place, plus emotional, descriptive and factual prompts which can lead to poems. (You’ll also get to see how the postal system of the country you’re visiting works. I once had a postcard beat me home and another arrive about three months later — from the same place!)

So . . . what does travel poetry look and sound like? It can be a four-line Dickinson or Thoreau stanza or a multi-page Byron, Whitman or Ginsberg narrative. The thing is, I have been writing what I called “poetry of place” for many years. I never thought of it as travel poetry, but I realize now that that is exactly what it is. So here’s one of mine and one from a favorite contemporary poet, John Balaban:

Journeys

Linda Dini Jenkins

I am making riboletta, the twice-cooked white bean soup

that my grandmother used to make,

while the others are back in Florence for the day

or soaking up sun here in the yard

The aroma of jasmine floats in from the pergola

mixing with the garlic from the big pot on the stove

to form a perfect memory of this place

Nonna, you were just a girl when you left here for New York

I wonder how easy it was to leave then,

while this was all still new,

and how you survived in the city

with this countryside in your blood, with these smells

in your skillful fingertips?

Passing Trough Albuquerque

John Balaban

At dusk, by the irrigation ditch

gurgling past backyards near the highway,

locusts raise a maze of calls in cottonwoods.

A Spanish girl in a white party dress

strolls the levee by the muddy water

where her small sister plunks in stones.

Beyond a low adobe wall and a wrecked car

men are pitching horseshoes in a dusty lot.

Someone shouts as he clangs in a ringer.

Bog winds buffet in ahead of a storm,

rocking the immense trees and whipping up

clouds of dust, wild leaves, and cottonwool.

In the moment when the locusts pause and the girl

presses her up-fluttering dress to her bony knees

you can hear a banjo, guitar, and fiddle

playing “The Mississippi Sawyer” inside a shack.

Moments like that, you can love this country.

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself. — Maya Angelou

Room for one more?

I have not been to Le Marche, that region in central Italy that is bordered by Tuscany and Umbria on one side and the Adriatic on the other, but I have been reading about it in a terrific blog called La Tavola Marche. Not only reading — seeing inviting photographs of life there and (to me) even better, reveling in the recipes provided by Ashley Bartner and her chef husband, Jason, owners of an organic farm, inn and cooking school there.

Pull up the wellies, barn shoes or rubber boots, because you'll head straight to the garden to pick the bounty for every meal!

An American couple who have lived in Italy for years and are passionate about food and cooking and showing travelers an authentic good time, Ashley and Jason provide a hands-on “farm-to-table” experience in their Agriturismo and Cooking School. La Tavola Marche is situated in a 300-year-old stone farmhouse set on 500 acres of farmland, rolling hills and truffle-rich woods. Guest stay in spacious apartments with private bedroom, en-suite bathroom, kitchen, dining room, wood beam ceilings, tile floors and stone fireplaces. Best of all, everything that they serve — from sausages and salami to the after-dinner drinks — is made locally and supports neighboring artisans and farmers.

Chef Jason

Chef Jason is a professional chef with over 12 years of high-end culinary experience in San Francisco and New York City and an education at the prestigious French Culinary Institute, training with culinary legends like Jacques Pepin. Ashley currently writes a monthly column for Italia! Magazine on their everyday adventures of life in Le Marche and was recently named to the Board of Directors for The International Culinary Tourism Association, continuing her efforts to promote culinary tourism.

Ashley writes, “It is incredibly satisfying to walk 100 feet from the house with a group of guests and pick the night’s dinner — and if you’re lucky enough to make it to a cooking class, that’s the first stop! Our guests experience picking eggplant or zucchini right off the vine, checking in on the tomatoes, tossing a bright red cherry tomato in their mouths and then heading up to the kitchen to create delicious, simple dishes with the cucumbers still warm from the sun.”

Squash blossom — where's the ricotta?

I’m pleased to present some of the fabulous photos from their garden as well as a real treat — an Easter risotto dish that I know I’ll be making in a few weeks. Hope you’ll consider it, too!  Buon apetito!

Risotto di Carciofi — Artichoke Risotto

Serves 6

4 Tablespoons olive oil

1 onion, chopped

1 garlic clove

8 fresh artichoke

5 cups or so fresh vegetable stock

3/4 cup dry white wine

scant 2 cups risotto rice — Arborio or Carnaroli are best

salt & pepper

Parmesan cheese

Start by cleaning your artichokes and soaking them in lemon water.

Heat the oil in a pan, add the onion and garlic and cook for 10 minutes or so over med-low heat without browning.

Chop up your artichokes and saute them slowly until tender, so you could mush with a fork.

Add a couple of spoonfuls of vegetable stock to help the process along and keep from browning the ‘chokes.

Now raise the heat, add the rice and saute for a minute or two.

Add in the wine and let it cook out a bit.

Season with salt and pepper.

Meanwhile, bring the stock to a boil in another pan.

Add a ladle-full of the hot stock and cook, stirring, until it has been absorbed into the rice.

Continue adding the stock, a ladle-full at a time, constantly stirring until each addition has been absorbed. This will take 18-20 minutes.

When the rice is al dente, turn off the heat, add in a handful or two of grated cheese and give the rice one more stir, and check seasoning.

Cover the pot and allow the rice to sit for a couple of minutes.

To serve, spoon the rice into the bowls and sprinkle with parmesan, drizzle with extra virgin olive oil and serve immediately.

Buy a couple of extra ‘chokes and you can top the dish with the hearts steamed or boiled separately!

MANGIA!!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ashley continues, “Everything we serve is local and seasonal, inspired by local traditions. Most dishes only have three or four ingredients: extra virgin olive oil, salt, maybe lemon or vinegar, and the vegetable of choice. I may be a bit biased, but I must say these veggies are freakin’ awesome! Even the lettuces have so much more flavor in their delicate leaves than I ever would have imagined. Does it get any better than sharing a meal with friends and family around the table with the freshest ingredients prepared simply? Creating delicious memories is what we do best!”

I’m eager to try one of their “farm to table” holidays and — if the weather ever turns nice again for more than one day — to helping Tim get our vegetable and herb garden going for the season. And, as Ashley reminds us, even if you don’t have your own garden, a great way to eat “farm fresh” is to support your local Community Supported Agriculture cooperative. Check one out in your local area this year and buy a “share.” In return, you’ll get a bag or box of locally grown seasonal produce each week throughout the farming season. But beware: you’ll never look at supermarket produce quite the same way again . . .

So, happy local eating and buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

My memory is certainly in my hands. I can remember things only if I have a pencil and I write with it and I can play with it. I think my hand concentrates for me. I don’t know why it should be so. — Dame Rebecca West

People give me books. Books about Italy, books about writing, books about cooking Italian food, books about other women writers. They buy them new and they find them in yard sales. They sometimes find them at the very back of a closet or in the “behind” row of books on their bookshelf and think, “Linda would like this.” And I do. I love books. I have far too many of them and find it impossible to part with even the most dog-eared, bedraggled, cover-coming-off specimen.

On my most recent birthday, a dear friend gave me a new travel writing book that (a) I had not seen before, and (b) was written by her daughter’s roommate in San Francisco. That was a very special gift. She even had the author inscribe it for me. Writing Away, by Lavinia Spalding, is a wonderful resource for anyone who is even remotely considering writing about his or her traveling experiences. Subtitled, “a creative guide to awakening the journal-writing traveler,” the book is a joy to read, interweaving personal stories with travel advice and journaling how-tos. And like me, she loves quotes about travel and writing — you get a passel of ‘em here.

Lavinia’s bio blurb says that she has kept travel journals on five continents and that her work has appeared in many national publications. I am daunted by this. As some of you know, once I went to Italy ten years ago, that was basically the end for me. I can’t stop going back. Not that I’ll never go anywhere else again — I’m sure I will — I just can’t imagine why right now. In any case, Lavinia is certainly braver (and most likely quite a bit younger) than I, and has traveled extensively: Manila, Cambodia, Costa Rica, Korea and so on. I am a wimp by comparison.

In any case, I believe that no matter where you travel — from the most remote outback to the next county seat — you can find something to journal about. Your state of mind at the time. Your fears and expectations. What it reminds you of. Where you would much rather be. What you’ve learned the hard way. What wisdom has been imparted to you by the locals. What you eat there. What (or who) has made you very angry today. What words you love in the native language. (At the moment, “pamplemousse” is my favorite French word and “cinghiale” is my favorite word in Italian. Not for their meanings, no; I just love the way they sound.)

One of my favorite chapters in Writing Away is about telling the truth, and I like it because it addresses head-on a subject that we writers will all grapple with at one time or another: How truthful should I be in my writing? Whose feelings will I hurt? Should I wait ‘til they’re dead to tell what really happened that Thanksgiving? Should I mask my real feelings for this place because someone might read it and get angry/disagree with me/come after me? (They may get angry or disagree, but they probably won’t come after you — and if they disagree, so what?)

She reminds us that when we’re children, we have no problem ranting into our diaries about who done us wrong and how absolutely God-awful we feel, but that as we get older, we tend to put the brakes on this kind of honesty. We should consider, she says, why we’re writing our journal in the first place. Is it intended to be totally private, for ever and ever? What if it’s found years from now — how will the family react to it? What do you want them to know about this time and place? Is it intended for eventual publication? Or is it a blog, like this one, which is a very public thing from the outset?

Lavinina writes, “Consider the legacy you might leave for others, overruling your internal editor and baring you soul to the page . . . most of us write what we want to but seldom what we need to, for fear of exposure . . .The bottom line is that it’s crucial to feel safe while writing, because only when you feel free to tell the truth will you experience the unselfconsciousness necessary to break through to meaty, life-changing conclusions.”

I need to take her advice. I need to write the story of the day when our small group of friends was invited into the most magnificent home I have ever seen. It was in Verona (Italy, not New Jersey) and as we settled into one of the parlors with our host, our very overweight friend sat in the most spindly of (probably priceless) antique chairs, which he rapidly brought crashing down to the floor. The moment hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity. I need to write about that eternity, and I need to write about why I have never written about it before. And I will, just as soon as I find the courage.

To find your own dose of courage — and a lot more good advice — I highly recommend Lavinia Spalding’s book, Writing Away. Then go someplace wonderful and try it out!

Buon viaggo!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

The first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it. – Rudyard Kipling

It’s happened to Tim twice — once in Paris and once in Crete. Following his nose through the town, street by street, smell by smell, until he located the source. Dinner? Garlic, always.  Large quantities of rosemary. A little lamb. Wondrously flavorful sauce. Fresh bread. Wine, of course. What more does one need to understand a foreign country, really?

Beansies, aka The Michigan, at Burlington's Battery Park

Well, probably a lot more, but it makes a great story. And it’s true. In Paris, he was befriended by a fellow from Norway who accompanied him one Sunday, when most places were closed, on their gastronomic odyssey through town. Later, in a small village in Crete, he was traveling with a girlfriend, and together they discovered a tiny family-run restaurant where Mama served them the only thing on the menu — a foil-wrapped bowl of exquisite lamb stew. When they slowly peeled the foil off their crocks, they got a rich, hot faceful of steaming sensational. It is these memories that stick. That girlfriend is long gone (thankfully, for me!) but the aroma is still very much embedded in Tim’s nostrils.

The best fries in town

I have had similar experiences and so, probably, have you. So I want to share some recent culinary encounters to remind you that writing about food is an important part of writing about travel. Think about it: what do you eat “over there” that you wouldn’t dream of eating here? Where do you eat when you’re on the road and don’t have a lot of time? Are you drawn towards the national or local dishes or do you stick with what you know? Eating — whether in a foreign language or in a regional dialect — is an adventure in itself. Bon apetit!

In the back at Two Amy's Pizza in D.C. — or is it Tuscany?

Stateside, in Burlington, Vermont, are two absolute gems. Not gourmet, perhaps, but they’re certainly unique eating experiences. Al’s French Fry on Williston Road in So. Burlington has been the go-to place for outrageous spuds since it first opened its doors the 1940s. Today Al’s is housed in a red, white and black diner-style building which sports curved glass brick walls and shiny red barstools — and it serves a lot more than fries. Jump onto their website and listen to the jingle . . . you’ll wish you were there.

Summers in Burlington mark the arrival of Beansie’s (The Michigan, to those of us in the know).Once the yellow school bus pulls into Burlington’s Battery Park — right on the banks of beautiful Lake Champlain — residents know that it’s time for the most unusual fast food experience in the area. Pick a nice day and mosey on up to the window to order burgers, dogs and great fries (Burlington is blessed with an abundance of good potato preparers). Then take your cardboard tray over to the wall and watch the trees go by across the lake in New York State. Even better, stay for the sunset. There’s nothing like it.

Thank you, Chef Pierre!

If you’re in Washington, D.C., head to Two Amy’s Pizza over on Macomber Street NW, in the shadow of the National Cathedral. A tiny place, Two Amy’s is known throughout the city for it’s pizza, but has a lot more than that going for it. If you’re sans the kiddoes, go straight to the back of the restaurant and turn right. You’ll find a small bar — but not the kind you think. Take a seat and ask for one of the “small plate” menus. The offerings change every day and can include all kinds of rare cheeses and olives, rice balls, smoked meats, bean surprises and heaven knows what else. Real Italian appetizers in — if there were such a thing — a smart Italian deli setting. Wash it all down with a glass of superb red wine, be sure to get plenty of crusty bread to sop up the olive oil and you might even forget you have to go through the world’s snarkiest traffic to get back home.

The once ubiquitous sign

For dessert, we in central Virginia are blessed with the creation of two renegade New Yorkers — The Desserterie, lead by Pastry Chef Pierre Tocco. Located in Harbourside Centre Loop (off Hull Street Road) in Midlothian, The Desserterie is one of the few very good gelaterias around. And its Lavazza coffee and desserts — cookies, tarts, cakes — are now joined by a few delicious soup and salad offerings each day, as well. Chef Pierre is known for his custom wedding and special occasion cake creations — just look at what he did for my book launch party!

Spinach pasta with wild funghi . . . on Lake Como

For those of you old enough to remember, we Americans of a certain age used to flock to Ho-Jos. Friday night was the All-You-Can-Eat Fish Fry (I think it was $2.99) and it was a family favorite. Well, Tim and I were driving in upstate New York last Spring and were overcome by hunger. How could we resist this sign? Yup — we went in and it was like a time warp. Comfort food and the best coffee ice cream around. Nice.

Heavenly fish and potatoes . . . on Lake Como

In Italy, things are different. While I will settle for a quick cornetto for breakfast and a panini caprese on the road if I have to, let’s face it — I’m there for the food. Most recently, I was at the Ristorante Imbarcadero on piazza Cavour in Como, overlooking the lake. Paolo, our affable and knowledgeable waiter made suggestions for lunch that were out of this world. Hand made pastas with fresh sauces, a fish and potato dish that was so simple and flavorful, it almost made you weep. And I experienced my first semifreddo — a soft pistachio ice cream concoction with rich dark chocolate sauce that should be its own food group.

My beautiful semifreddo

In Milan, I ordered a vegetarian lunch which (of course) came in two stages: first, a beautiful tagliatelle in a subtle pink sauce and then a grilled vegetable platter with a lightly fried pungent cheese on top. I tell you, I could do this for a living.

Who needs meat?

So, don’t forget the food when you journal. It’s part of the culture of the place as well as what will keep you going. Talk about food at the markets, in the grocery stores, with your waiters . . . you’ll come away with much more than a meal. You’ll get a story. Share it with us.

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…

Always roaming with a hungry heart. — Alfred Lord Tennyson

When we travel, we usually “roam” for a time. Go off the itinerary. Lose the schedule. I’ve filled journals with stories about all the turn-offs and re-routing that Tim has done on vacations — some of it hair-raising, but most of it well worth the time (his) and tantrums (mine).

After a pretty rigidly scheduled week in Lombardia, we went off with another couple to do some exploring in Milan and its environs. We took our time getting there, driving past Lake Garda, delighting in the fields and small towns we encountered along the way. The only thing really “planned” about the next three days was that we knew where we would stay and we knew that we wanted to visit with some friends of ours who lived there. And we’d go to Lake Como and Bellagio if we could swing it.

A major disappointment for us earlier in the week had been going to Ferrara. Mind you, I absolutely love Ferrara — we arrived a few years ago just in time for the Palio — but this time we were there during Rosh Hashana and I had eagerly scoped out a few things that would be meaningful for our Jewish friend,  Jerry, who was in Italy for the very first time. Little did I know that the Museo Ebraico, in the heart of the medieval center, would close the minute we got there. The entire street (Via Mazzini) had been part of the ghetto, where  Jews were separated from the rest of Ferrara from 1627 to 1859. We were all looking forward to seeing and learning, and there was much disappointment. But I made a quick recovery, if I do say so myself, leading us all over to the Osteria del Ghetto for lunch.

The Osteria, located in the heart of the ancient Hebraic Ghetto, opened in 2002 and offers a delightful respite for weary and hungry wanderers. The chef’s specialty is the pumpkin-stuffed pasta of the region as well as a wide variety of meats (beef, horse and pork . . .  lamb, wild bear, deer, duck and pheasant). Another favorite feature? Dogs are welcome (but not on the menu), as long as they don’t disturb the other guests. Now that’s a civilized society!

Anyway, this story is about Milano, not Ferrara, so let’s fast-forward a few days to our storied destination. After getting separated, after seeing all those sexy Ferraris, after doing some quick shopping in the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, we had worked up an appetite. But cruising through the “mall” (what an inadequate word for what the Galleria has to offer!) we decided that we would not welcome paying 30 euros each for what amounted to a sandwich and a soft drink in one of the fancy caffes. So we walked on.

This is what happens to us in Italy. We never get what we go for. We get better. I don’t know what made us look up, but before long, we saw it. Something gold on a second-story window. It was a menorah. Above all the fancy-schmancy restaurants and the unaffordable shops . . . above the world’s most elegant McDonalds . . . above the hustle and bustle of the crowds, was a simple gold menorah on a window on the second floor.

We tried to find an entrance, a way up. Tim’s hound-dog sense kicked into gear and he walked quickly in and out of shops and caffes to find a door. Jerry followed. There was no obvious entrance. The three of us were about to admit defeat, when Tim flew past us, rounded a corner and left the Galleria. He was hot on the trail  . . . and then Jerry was right after him.

I have learned that skepticism is not a useful emotion in these situations, so I just stand back and wait. And watch. And have my camera ready. A few minutes later, they yelled, “This way!” and we followed. They had found a sign in an alley that looked like it led absolutely nowhere. The sign read “Beth Shlomo.” We found the door and walked up.

We followed the signs to a door and knocked. It was a working temple and there was a Rosh Hashana service going on. The last one of the holiday. After showing our identification and explaining that we were tourists from America looking for a service, we were welcomed warmly. Tim and Jerry took their places among the crowd of men in the main room; my friend Sharon and I stayed in an adjacent room with the other women and the children.

We had not realized the significance of the journey here until we started reading the signs and posters. Beth Shlomo is an Orthodox Jewish Congregation and the most central synagogue in all of Milan. It is a lively, multi-lingual community that operates mostly in the Ashkenazic Sefarad tradition. And herein lies a tale.

In 1940 when Italy entered WWII and the anti-Semitic “racial laws” were enacted in Italy, the Fascist government rounded up all Jewish refugees not holding an Italian passport and interred them in the south, at a camp called Ferramonti. Most of these refugees were of Ashkenzic descent who came to Italy fleeing other countries as they fell to the Nazis. While conditions in the camp were not ideal, the authorities did permit the prisoners to build a synagogue.

The Allies stormed the south in 1943 and pushed the Germans back north of Naples, sparing the Jewish refugees a terrible fate. And the Allies’ famed “Jewish Brigade” transformed the synagogue into a military chapel for Jewish soldiers. In 1945, at the end of the war, the Jewish Brigade was transferred to Milan, where the members worked to help Holocaust survivors who were en route to a new Jewish state. During this period, thousands of refugees were brought to Milan and two rooms of the original building were set aside as a “house of study” (Beit haMidrash), with many of the holy books and artifacts used in the Ferramonti temple finding their way there. The heritage of the Ferramonti experience is still very much alive in the relocated Beth Shlomo, from the benches, on which are still visible the old Fascist labels, to the warm welcome bestowed upon guests.

Have you ever been within 20 feet of the shofar (ram’s horn) when it is blown? Let me tell you, you pay attention. There was attention and there were tears, and I’m a non-Jewish newbie at this. It is commanded that the shofar be sounded on Rosh Hashana to remind the people that God is King. And on Rosh Hashana (unless it falls on Shabbat) the horn is blown for 100 notes each day. A lot of reminding, and a lot of skin-tingling. I’m so glad Tim follows his nose.

After we said our good-byes, declining the kind invitation to stay for lunch (we thought we’d overstayed our welcome already), we went out into the afternoon sunlight new people, a little dazed and still in search of a good lunch experience. We found it only a few yards away at Primafila on via Ugo Foscolo. Our waiter, David, could not have been more gracious. The restaurant itself was beautiful and its owner must be something of a music afficionado because there were these fantastic photos all around the rooms of jazz, classical and opera stars and composers. And conductors. Tim snapped a picture of one with his cell phone that is honestly one of the more breathtaking photos I’ve ever seen.

That day I had the Zuppa di Verdura (vegetable soup) and the Businessman’s Lunch (the vegetarian option) and it was fresh and colorful and simple and so tasty with its grilled veggies over a tagliatelle in a subtle pink sauce . . . the best of what makes Italian cuisine so special.

We exchanged e-mail addresses with a family seated behind us and promised to send them some photos that Tim took of the mama and her children. It was a good day. No, it was a great day. What started out as a snarky “why-weren’t-you-where-you-said-you’d-be?” day turned into a spiritual and culinary masterpiece. Such is a day in Italy. Lost and found.

Buon viaggio!

Linda Dini Jenkins

Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…