November 1 is Reclamation Day

There was only one sign for pumpkin spice anything, and it was at the train station in Rome. Starbucks, of course, and my apologies to all who love the fall-themed brew. But then there was the Trick or Treat sign on the Irish pub (!) in my Italian town of Sulmona. It was jarring. Halloween hasn’t yet come to Italy in a big way, and that’s fine with me. Call me a grump.

Because the rest of the year (as most of you know) I live in Salem, Massachusetts where, over the past 20 years, Halloween starts in early September and runs through mid-November. The crowds are staggering – nearly one million people come into town on Halloween weekend alone. Adults in goth costumes wander the streets, looking for signs of something wicked, I suppose. Or at least something to do. This town of 46,000 or so residents is overwhelmed by traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, who somehow think that it’s a theme park and that nobody really lives here and has to get stuff done. End of rant.

I think it’s tragic that a city with such a rich history in the areas of maritime, literary, architecture and art – heck, the telephone was first tested here – is known mostly for an unfortunate few months when more than 200 people were falsely accused of witchcraft. Twenty were hung and one was pressed to death in a series of sensational trials. It is a devastating story of superstition, misogyny and land grabs. I do not take this lightly. But when it is translated into pointy hats, zombies, monsters and haunted houses, I say please take this freak show somewhere else. Of course, the broom is already out of the barn and witch images are everywhere, from the police cars to the local newspaper.

Just last week, I pushed some guy out of the way on the pedestrian mall so that I could get to my dentist appointment in time. He was just STANDING THERE in some kind of weird costume. A fully grown adult. It brings out the worst in me. But tomorrow, we start to go back to normal. Start. It’s Reclamation Day in Salem.

Another cappuccino, please. Hold the pumpkin spice.

The Joy of Abruzzissimo!

Nine issues in, and I have been remiss. Of course, I don’t even know what day it is most weeks and time has lost all meaning, so I won’t be too hard on myself.

Anna, at work  

But here’s the story: early into the lockdown in 2020, I got an e-mail from a friend in far-away Abruzzo. Anna is also a writer who has created several businesses in the region offering tours, cooking classes, a place for ex-pats to gather online and basically sharing the joys of Abruzzo and its traditions to anyone who will listen.

We were introduced a few years ago by mutual friends in the lovely town of Santo Stefano di Sessanio (I think, it’s been a while!) and have stayed in touch. It’s the positive side of social media. In 2019 (again, I think!) Tim and I talked our friends Lou and Vicky into going on Anna’s walking tour of Tocco da Casauria, which turned out to be one of the best days in Abruzzo to date.

Anyway, she asked me if I might be interested in working with her on the launch of a new magazine that would be all about Abruzzo. There’s no money in it yet, she said, so of course, I said yes, because that’s what I do for love. We agonized over names and article ideas, split up the writing (she and her small band of contributors do most of it) and set about making a thing: The first English-language magazine about the whole marvelous Abruzzo region.

Full disclosure for new readers: Tim and I own a small apartment in Abruzzo, in the town of Sulmona, and have ourselves become Abruzzo aficionados. So it was a perfect fit!


Abruzzissimo Magazine presents a great mix of stories each month (10X/year), focusing on local traditions, food and wine, places to go, stories of ex-pats who have bought and renovated homes, recipes, restaurant reviews, a calendar of events — even the occasional contest — and more. It’s a lot of hard work and long hours, but it’s been so rewarding. And the best part (for readers)? It’s free! Just sign up and it will appear like magic in your mailbox at the beginning of the month.

As the stateside Copy Editor and proud Abruzzo promoter, I invite you to join us on this journey into what I believe is one of the best-kept secrets in Italy. Abruzzo is charming, rugged, historic, green, breathtakingly beautiful — and only two hours from Rome!

So if you can’t be there in person now, you can be there in spirit with this lovely publication. Sign up, sit down with a glass of vino or a cup of cafe, and dream about when travel is possible once again. And put Abruzzo on your bucket list!

Buon viaggio!

Almost Losing it in Rome

Italy has changed. But Rome is Rome. – Robert De Niro

 

At first, I hated Rome. Too many tourists, too many noisy Vespas, too many waiters trying to lure me into mediocre restaurants, too many things to see in one lifetime . . . just too, too much! I always said that if I wanted to be in a big crowded city, I’d have stayed in New York. At least I speak the language and the streets are in a grid so it’s easy to find everything.

But a few years ago, Rome started to grow on me. Little by little, I came to see that you can do Rome in small chunks. You don’t have to try to see it all at once. So one trip focused on the neighborhood around the Borghese Gardens. Another trip kept us in Trastevere for the duration. Still another brought us over to via Margutta and the ghost of Fellini. It’s been like that ever since. Get to Rome, stay in your (imaginary) lane and promise to come back and see something different next time. Rome will always be Rome.

Three years ago Tim and I found ourselves without a Spring tour, but we headed to bella italia anyway. Our trip: touring with friends in Abruzzo on our own, searching for new experiences for future group tours, and finding a little time to relax. It had been a grueling winter and we were ready for a break.

We decided to start our venture with two nights in Rome. All to ourselves. Yay! We had booked into a little boutique hotel near the Spanish Steps that I had read about. After landing at Fiumicino, we took the Leonardo Express into Rome Termini, jumped on the metro to Spagna station, and walked the block or so to the hotel. By now, we were incredibly excited to be in Rome on our own, but also incredibly tired. And it was only 3:00 in the afternoon!

We checked in, unpacked a little, and then committed the cardinal sin of travel: we actually laid down to rest our eyes. A quick power nap. Forty winks, is all…

I woke up after a very restful sleep and it was already light out. I panicked. Shaking Tim awake, I said something like, Holy shit! We only have 2 nights in Rome and we just slept through one of them! We both jumped out of bed and showered as fast as we could, determined to make the most of the second day. We were kicking ourselves all the way down to the breakfast room. We knew better than this. How could we be so stupid? We had lost a whole day!!

The breakfast room was lovely, and we were greeted by the desk clerk on our way in. Before even choosing a table, we marched right up to the buffet — and saw no breakfast. And no other people. We had missed breakfast, too! This day was really sucking. But, we told ourselves, it was only 7:30 . . . maybe they didn’t start serving until 8:00. So we chose a table, sat down, and started to plan our day when a waiter came over and asked if he could bring us a drink.

We looked up, startled. Coffee? Tim said. Orange juice? I said. He looked a little puzzled. For breakfast, he said. Yes, we nodded. He left, confused, but no more confused than we were. At that point, I got a message from our mobile service welcoming us to Rome. I took a long look at the screen and realized, to my everlasting relief, that it was 7:30 in the evening, not 7:30 the next morning.

We felt like Scrooge on Christmas morning! We got the day back! It wasn’t gone after all! We were exactly on time for a spritz and a walk around the neighborhood before dinner. We practically danced around the breakfast room!

Seeing this, the desk clerk now realized what had gone on. We almost kissed him as we ran down the stairs and out into the Rome night – still light at this hour in the Spring, and especially beautiful after a light rain. We feasted on a wonderful dinner at Porto di Ripetta, just a few blocks away off the Piazza del Popolo, where they served us a beautiful salt-crusted fish and some wonderful dry white wine.

We almost lost it in Rome. Time, that thing we can never have too much of. We spent it in gratitude for hours in the piazza. And we had the next day, too. Because Rome is always Rome.

Buon viaggio!

Staying Put in Trastevere

How is it possible to say an unkind or irreverential word of Rome? The city of all time, and of all the world!  Nathaniel Hawthorne

It was time for our last two nights in Italy after an unusually long five-week stay, and we chose to spend them in Rome. I reserved a fantastic-looking, very hip apartment for us in the Trastevere section of the city and thought this would make for an excellent jumping-off point for checking out our favorite sites in Rome: Piazza del Popolo, Piazza Navona, and the Pantheon. Trouble is, the weather just didn’t cooperate. But Plan B quickly kicked in and we were delighted.

This was the fall of wind and water. Venice was experiencing an extraordinary waist-deep Aqua Alta; there were waterspouts in Puglia; tornadoes in Campania; and incredible wind everywhere. Sitting on Piazza Garibaldi in Sulmona earlier in the week, we spent the better part of an hour chasing sugar packets and plastic packet holders blowing off the café tables while we had our capuccini. We heard reports of hail in Rome when we were up in Gubbio, but figured it was just an aberration. We were wrong.

When the time came to leave, we took the local bus from Sulmona to Tiburtina Station in Rome and then caught a taxi, thanks to Tim’s clever ride app. The location of this AirBnB was incredible: in colorful Trastevere, on a quiet, upscale street, with a very cool coffee and music bar — the Big Star Pub— just around the corner. At 7:30 one morning, Tim and I and all the locals (maybe 6 of us in all) brought our coffees to the front door to watch another bout of hail pummel the streets of Rome. Walking around the Janiculum Hill (Giancolo) about an hour later, we saw a gorgeous double rainbow. Magic is everywhere if you’re open to it.

So what’s in Trastevere? A real neighborhood. It’s a little BoHo funky there across the river (tras-((across))  -tevere ((the Tiber))), with narrow streets and cafes that you’ll want to linger over, and shops that beckon. The Jewish ghetto, established in the 16thcentury and considered the most ancient in the western world, is here. A visit to the Great Synagogue is a must, as is a sampling of some of the many wonderful foods available here, especially the artichokes — unlike anything you’ve ever had in the States. Try Taverna del Ghetto or Nonna Betta, and don’t forget Forno Boccione, the amazing tiny bakery, for “Jewish pizza” (pizza ebraica) which is a sweet, not a savory, and dished out by a colorful cast of Jewish nonne.

Bernini’s Turtle Fountain is not to be missed, nor are the many churches. We literally stumbled upon San Francesco a Ripa, just a few blocks from the apartment. It started to rain and we ducked in to this welcoming building for what we thought would be 10 minutes, at most. Gregorian chants were playing as we walked around the side chapels, and then we saw it: another Bernini. This one, The Ecstasy of Saint Ludovica. An absolute stunner. We looked at all the chapels, went up to the main altar, and were about to leave when we heard an organ chord. A live organ chord. There was no leaving.

The full name of the church is the Franciscan Sanctuary of Saint Francis in Ripa. Here is where Saint Francis of Assisi lived during his visits to the Holy Father. In 2011, the Roman Province of the Minor Friars decided to emulate Francis, creating a project for homeless brothers and sisters. They also preserve a collection of books, among the oldest and most important of Rome, and a library specializing in all things Franciscan.

But back to that organ chord. At first, I could not see who was playing, and it didn’t matter. A selection of the usual church music went on for about 30 minutes, and at the end, I started to put my coat on, calmed and contemplative, when I heard the beginning of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major. I took my coat off and sat down. Eventually, I moved to the front of the church, where it turns out Tim had been standing the whole time, to see a young man in his 20s or maybe 30s playing. We applauded (since we were the only ones there) and offered a “bravo” and “grazie,” which he nicely acknowledged. We turned to leave.

And then . . . he played the powerful opening notes of the Bach Cantata and Fugue in D Minor(you all know it) and I was floored. The sanctuary shook. I sat the heck back down. I wept. And there we sat for more than an hour while this young man played everything from Debussy, Satie, Elgar, and God Save the Queen. It turns out that his name is Ben, he speaks fluent English because he was born in Italy, but lived for a long time in Canada. Now he is back, a Jewish music student, who has permission from the Friars to play this organ whenever he wants. Magic again. I gave him my card and hope that he contacts me one day because I would love to put him on one of the two Skinner organs at our old church in Boston.

By now, it was lunch time and Tim did his trusty TripAdvisor thing and found us a little place nearby called Nannarella. There was a plastic-enclosed outdoor café, where the tablecloths were blowing like stink and the sugar packets were swirling like confetti, but this is where they seated us all. About 4 tables of us, just barely out of the maelstrom of wind and water. But a little wine does wonders, and soon we were laughing and talking with the two Australian guys at the next table and life was good. The food was terrific — we started with two orders of the artichokes — and they let us stay for hours. Every once in a while we had to rescue a red and white tablecloth from the floor and anchor it again with ashtrays and olive oil bottles, but it became part of the shared experience.

After lunch (by now it was about 4:00) we started for home and stumbled upon another church: the Basilica di Santa Maria in Trastevere, considered by many to be the first Christian place of worship in all of Rome and quite possibly the first to be dedicated to Mary, mother of Jesus. It features some incredible Cavallini mosaics as well as architectural elements from the Fourth Century, the 12th Century, and columns reputed to be from the Baths of Caracalla. The angels on the ceiling are like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

These churches, which bookmarked our wild lunch and musical tour, are just two of a bevy of gorgeous and historic churches to be found in Trastevere. On our way home, we grabbed a nice bottle of wine and some cheese and veggies and stayed in the for the night, listening to the life howling around outside our door. It was good to be home.

Buon viaggio!

P.S. If you’d like a 3-minute view (badly done, on my iPhone) of the Pachelbel experience, please tell me in the comments section and I’ll send it along. It was too big a file for this post.

A Calling to Campania: Eboli and Paestum

We Greeks sit around the sea like frogs around a pond — Plato

There are a lot of mysteries surrounding my nonna’s family. Her name, for instance: was it DeAngelis or Iaccovazza? I’ve heard both. But until I get to the little town hall in her (fingers crossed) village near Salerno, I won’t have a chance of knowing for sure. So it’s still on the bucket list.

Tim and I had been to the region of Campania before. Tucked into the south-central west coast of Italy, it contains Naples, Sorrento, the Amalfi Coast, and Pompeii and, over the years, we have visited all those places. But lately, having discovered Basilicata to the east and the incredible Matera, I got interested in reading Carlo Levi’s 1945 classic, Christ Stopped at Eboli. Which, it so happens, is also in Campania.

Levi – doctor, painter, political prisoner because of his anti-Fascist views in 1935 — provides an account of his year-long exile in Lucania (now Basilicata) and the belief of the people that they have been abandoned by Christ, Christianity, and morality. They tell him they have been “excluded from the full human experience.” In other words, Christ stopped at Eboli, in Campania, and never made it any farther south, where the conditions were unspeakable and the people were mostly desperate.

So of course, I had to see Eboli. And Tim had to see Paestum, having heard that it was right up there with Pompeii. And so in May, without a tour to tend to, we took off from Sulmona and did a little exploration on our own.

Our base for three days was a hotel in the centro of Eboli which we reserved through AirBnB. It was magnificent. Apartamento “La Vacca”with its 16th century terrace off the kitchen, right next to an abandoned noble palazzo. There was evidence that someone had been working on the palazzo, but we saw no sign of it while we were there.

La Vacca was a fully furnished, contemporary, self-catering apartment of the highest quality with the best view in town. Of course, there was a vacca in the apartment – at least a painting of one – by one of the region’s prominent political artists, Francesco Cuomo. It’s a popular name in Eboli.

The modern, rather whimsical painting contained an assertion, which was anything but. It’s a wow. I’ll give you both versions:

L’italia é come una vacca

L’italia é come una vacca, nessuno ha il coraggio di accarezzala
—   Ma tutti la vogliono mungere.

Italy is like a cow

Italy is like a cow, nobody has the courage to caress her
—   But everybody wants to milk her.

The city smells like jasmine and boasts really fascinating architectural details. It’s a little reminiscent of Matera, actually, without the sassi. Very hilly, lots of ups and downs, but if you’re a good driver, you can manipulate the streets. And, unlike Matera,  there are parking areas sprinkled throughout the centro.

We found a few very nice restaurants in Eboli, especially the one on our last night. We ventured out late, not even sure we wanted to eat after a long day in Paestum, but stumbled upon a local place called Vico Rua, a pizzeria with an outdoor garden. Because it was late, we took the only table available inside and, even though the staff seems not to speak English, we managed brilliantly and had a fabulous send-off to Eboli. Good wines, good antipasti of local meat and cheese, and great pizza.

What really struck us (after the vacca painting in our apartment) is that this is clearly a city of artists – culinary, architectural, dance, music, and fine arts — who are very aware of the Carlo Levi connection. Vico Rua has a rotating art exhibit and, when we were there, there was a fantastic display of large wooden plates painted with a singular black-garbed character interacting rather joyfully with vegetables, bread, and cheese. Imaginative and smile-inducing. We walked back to the apartment full and happy that we had come.

My first observation about Eboli, after checking in, was that this small city seemed to have its act together, tourist-wise. It is very frustrating in Abruzzo that the local businesses, together with the government tourist board are, for the most part, totally inept at marketing themselves. Upon arrival in Eboli, we were presented with brochures about a few museums, information about restaurants and accommodations, even a little bit about the history of the place. I was impressed.

But with the exception of the restaurant information, the brochures were mostly wrong. Nothing was open when they said it was. I was particularly disappointed about not getting to see the museum commemorating Operation Avalanche, the September 1943 Allied invasion of Italy through Salerno. We stood outside the museum’s doors for 20 minutes waiting for it to open, but it never did, and we were not alone. Score one for the tourist board, but it needs to get the attractions to play along.

 

Magna Graecia

Paestum, on the other hand, did not disappoint in any way. One of Italy’s UNESCO World Heritage Sites, the Parco Archeologico di Paestum is a must-see if you are interested in a classical tour of Italy, since it boasts the most extensive remains of Magna Graecia anywhere. An archaeological site housing three Greek temples and a variety of other ruins (Roman forum, amphitheatre, residential buildings), this is a fabulous place to spend a few hours.

Because we were coming from Sulmona, about three hours away, we drove. But Paestum is actually serviced by train from Salerno to the north and Sapri to the south. We parked right near the train station and took the 15 minute walk down a shaded country road to reach the historical site, and were rudely announced by the white peacocks on the other side of a stone wall. If you’ve never heard a peacock call, Google it – it’s really odd.

The original Greek city of Paestum, called Poseidonia, dates from around 600 BC. It was conquered by the Lucanians 200 years later and then by the Romans in 237 BC but, as the Roman Empire collapsed, so did Paestum. In the 18th century, the temples were rediscovered by local road builders, by intrepid travelers like Shelley and Goethe and, finally, by the emergence of the Grand Tour, which  encouraged an interest in antiquities.

Even though the day was sunny and hot, we walked spellbound through the site with its three Doric temples: one to Athena, one to Hera, and the biggest one, to Neptune (Poseidon). They are without roofs now, but the remaining columns, pediments, and ornamentation speak to the remarkable skill of the builders and the gravitas of the buildings themselves.

We actually began our day at the Museum of Paestum across the street, and I would recommend that you do that, too, so you can get a good sense of what you will see (and also what you won’t see, in terms of preserved sculptures, wall paintings, and other artifacts). Take special note of the fresco of the “Tomb of the Diver,” from a Greek tomb; they seem to love that!

There were half a dozen groups of schoolchildren from the area at the museum the day we were there. Normally, I would find this a negative, but I was really pleased to see how interested they were in their local historical site and how much they were learning and interacting with their teachers and museum guides. It gave me hope for the study and significance of history, something which is being eroded here in Salem as I write this.

When it was time for lunch, we went out of our way to find a specific place that we had picked out that got good marks on Trip Advisor. We never did find it. But we did venture into a most unlikely spot – the Ristorante Museo, right next to the museum. Of course, we expected the worst – a tourist trap with bad food. We couldn’t have been more wrong.

Because we were eating late, we were one of only two groups of patrons in the place. We took an outside table and were served by a lovely waiter who we later learned was named Marco. We got to talking and soon the chef came out — wearing a NY Yankees baseball cap. With Tim’s Boston Red Sox hat, a friendly banter ensued.

The chef, Franco, had worked for two years in London and Folkestone and was a delight to talk to. A second waiter was also named Franco, and before long, the five of us were in a wonderful conversation about Italy, the Mezzogiorno, and food. There was no way that I could eat dessert after the meal, and even Tim, declined, but Marco brought him a small slice of a special cake that they made, with a decorated plate that was irresistible. When Tim wolfed the first slice down, he brought him a piece of another specialty!

It was quite an afternoon, and a good farewell to Campania. As Tim and I walked back down the country road to get to our car, Marco pulled over in his car and asked if we wanted a ride (clearly we had been keeping them way beyond closing time), but we declined, saying that we needed a walk after the wonderful meal.

Campania has a lot of coastal charm that attracts thousands of visitors every year: Amalfi, Positano, Ravello, Naples, Sorrento . . . but it’s well worth going inland a bit to get a taste of ancient Greece — not to mention artichokes, tomatoes, figs, and lemons. And oh, what wine! Always, the wine — in this region, it’s the red Aglianico and the white Falanghina for me. We’ll be back to check out nonna’s village near Salerno. You should come, too!

 

Buon viaggio!

Thinking About 2019

If you’re going through hell, keep going – Winston Churchill

 

That’s what I’m doing now, I suppose. Keeping going. Trying to put down on paper how I became Italian. Sounds funny, no? If you’ve been reading these posts over the years, this might come as a surprise. When was I not Italian? And what does “being Italian” even mean? For that, you’ll have to buy the book, she writes, sarcastically. Hopefully, later this year.

So much of my adulthood has been tied up with all things Italian — cooking, traveling, tour planning, blogging, exploring, attending travel shows, etc. But it wasn’t always that way. My WASP mother had some things to say about that. And living with her mother didn’t help, either. Nor did living with a dad and grandfather who were assimilated, to a greater or lesser degree, and who were even reluctant to talk much about Italy. My father never even went.

I had a puzzle to solve, a maze to work through, and a true heart to find at the end of it all. And eventually, I did. So I’ll keep going, and I hope you’ll enjoy the results. I am truly in the middle of it right now, hoping for a first draft of this new book before the summer arrives. My first readers have been put on notice!

But since Italy and travel are what I do when I’m not writing (abaout Italy and travel), I’ll tell you about my plans for 2019. Because they’re your plans, more or less. That is to say, I have been contacted by two different groups of people asking for two very different experiences, and I am ecstatic to oblige. While the details have to be worked out and reservations made, here, in brief, is what I’m looking at:

May 2019
Milan, Lake Como, and a Home Along the Po

We’ll spend 10 nights away – three of them in the heart of Milan, and seven of them in a glorious villa in the Po Valley.

 

 

 

 

In Milan, we’ll have an orientation tour and cruise from Como to Bellagio along the lake. We’ll eat in the lovely town of Como, and have plenty of time to explore Milan on our own. What will you see? The Duomo? La Scala? The Brera Gallery? Or go for another boat trip and garden tour, perhaps?

At our villa, we can take our time. There are bicycles and there is a pool for relaxing. We’re in the heart of a small, walkable city with restaurants, pasticcerie, and more. And we’re well positioned to visit the incredible nearby cities of Ferrara, Bologna, Verona, and Mantova. We can visit the Ferrari Museum in Maranallo . . . we can have a tour of Parma to see how the world famous parmigiana cheese and parma ham are made . . . we can buy authentic balsamico in Modena . . . we can tour the Jewish Ghetto in Ferrara. We will certainly visit Cremona, home of the violin. And Tim will take us to a gorgeous river-side restaurant where some of the recipes date back to the medieval period.

This tour will include all accommodations, breakfasts, ground transportation, tours, and at least four lunches and five dinners. We’ll fly in and out of Milan, but you are welcome to add on some time before or after. I’m happy to help you plan some additional outings.

 

October 2019
The Best of the Golden Mezzogiorno

We’ll spend eight nights under southern Italian skies – 3 in the UNESCO World Heritage city of Matera, in Basilicata, and 5 in various locations in exotic Puglia, which could include Lecce, the capital of the Salento region; coastal Otranto; and the white-washed old town of Ostuni.

Matera has been named the European Capital of Culture for 2019, and things will be bustling! Must-see Matera is a unique troglodyte town of prehistoric grottoes, cave churches, and Renaissance houses, all excavated into the local limestone tufa stone. The rock-cut cave dwellings known as the Sassi, date back to Byzantine times. We’ll stay in a superb cave hotel and have a guided tour of this remarkable site which has developed from the “shame of Italy” in the 1950s into a lively, sophisticated city of artists, craftspeople, and superb restaurants. We’ll visit nearby Alberobello, home of the unusual hobbit-like trulli structures — simple, beautiful dwellings with cone-shaped roofs made of local limestone — and eat and drink the native primitivo and falanghina wines.

In Puglia, we will experience the beauty of the Salice Salentino peninsula, along with cooking classes and an introduction to the unique wines of the region. Did you know that Puglia produces more wine than any other region in Italy? It’s absolutely true – and you’re in for a pleasant surprise if you’re not already familiar with them.

This tour will include all accommodations, breakfasts, ground transportation, tours, and at least four lunches and four dinners. We’ll fly in and out of Naples, but you are welcome to add on some time before or after. I’m happy to help you plan some additional outings.

Pricing and final itineraries for both trips will be forthcoming by summer 2018. Each trip can only take 6 people, so let me know early if you’re interested!

Buon viaggio!

The First Time I Saw Italy

Times are bad. Children no longer obey their parents, and everyone is writing a book.  — Cicero

 

It’s true. I’m at it again. I’m writing a book. This public admission is what I am counting on to inspire my getting to the finish line in my lifetime. It is not a travel book, per se, but the excerpt here is a story about travel. About the first time I agreed to go to Italy. About how the decision changed my life. About how I have come to love the south. I hope you enjoy the story. And if you’re inclined to come with me and Tim to see what all the fuss is about the Mezzogiorno, we’ve got a fantastic Harvest time experience planned for October, which you can read about in the Tours section. Let me know this week!

 

I didn’t want to go. Italy was never on my bucket list. Why? Because I grew up with a father who never wanted to go, a grandfather who never went back, friends of my grandfather who did go back and returned with horror stories about being financially drained by their relatives. So I decided that Italy was not a place I wanted to go. “If you’re American, they think you’re rich,” Rosario had said. “All they want is your money,” Enrico had said.

We were not rich. We did not go.

Also, there was never any mention of actual family back in Italy, so I never knew if I had anyone to visit. Did my nonno have brothers and sisters? Who knew? Did my nonna have a family there? No one talked about it. In fact, there was a lot of confusion about where my grandparents were even from. For a long time, I thought Clemente came from near Viterbo, in a small village called Acquapendente, and that Maria came from a village of 2,000 called Montano Antilia, not too far from Salerno, in Campagna. Only recently, thanks to ancestry.com, did Tim learn that my nonno came from outside of Siena (we’re Tuscan!) in the small commune of San Casciano dei Bagni, one of Italy’s prettiest Italian villages (borghi piu belli d’Italia). Nonna’s roots have still to be confirmed.

Clemente Dini

It turns out that I had traveled to England, Wales, Canada, France, Belgium and Bermuda long before I saw Italy. It came about because (1) my husband decided it was high time I put aside my prejudices about Italy and go, and (2) some friends from church were organizing a trip and asked us to be part of the group. The decision to go changed my life.

In the fall of 1999, our friend Tom called and asked if we would like to be included in the planning stages of a possible trip to Tuscany. He said he had gotten information about villas from an agency and wanted to put together a small group to talk about it. We said yes, and soon found ourselves part of a group of eight people who would travel the following June and launch ourselves into an adventure in the little village of Cistio, northeast of Florence, in the lovely (unknown to us) territory of the Mugello.

The amphitheater in Fiesole, just northeast of Florence

And so it was that Tom and John, Jack and Patrick, Sandi and Katie, and Tim and I set off in two ridiculous Fiat Multipla SUVs in the days before cell phones and set off for parts unknown. Of course, we went to Florence, several times. We went to Lucca and walked around on the city wall. We went to Pisa for the Luminaria di San Ranieri on Sandi’s birthday. We ordered a gorgeous whipped cream cake from the local pasticceria on John’s birthday. Patrick recited Shakespeare for us at the teatro romano in Fiesole. We met scorpions. We gaped at the monstrous Benetti yachts in the harbor in Viareggio. We saw rain so hard we thought our villa would be washed down the precarious mountain on which it was perched. We fell in love with the wine, with the olive trees, and with the fresh air and sense of freedom that we experienced there. And I wrote.

Italy was the first place that truly inspired me as a writer. Before that, it was all assignments. Here was the stuff of family, of tradition, of fear, of desire . . . here was a culture I could sink my teeth into and that, in some ways, I felt I already knew a little about. And I thought, sadly, about how bad it must have been in the early days of the 20th century for my grandparents – and thousands like them – to leave this countryside for the complete unknown. To risk everything. To lose everything. To start anew. The ocean crossing alone would have scared me to death.

During those two weeks, we bonded as a group of friends and we bonded as travelers. Group travel doesn’t always work out (as anyone who’s tried it can confirm) but this trip worked. We ate breakfasts at home, had lunches out, and dinners were often just heavy antipasti in the garden. We learned how satisfying cheese, salami, and crusty bread can be when accompanied by wine, olives, friends, and stars.

We explored the museums and churches of Florence, and John, our historian, told us which were the can’t-miss sites. Being face-to-face (so to speak) with Michelangelo’s David and then Donatello’s David (which, by the way, I prefer) . . . seeing Boticelli’s Birth of Venus and Ghiberti’s Gates of Paradise was more extraordinary in every way than I imagined.

We drove around a lot, stopping at wineries, some of us climbing up to the top of Brunelleschi’s dome or the towers in San Gimignano for breathtaking views. We strolled through the small, wonderful city of Borgo San Lorenzo near our villa and were welcomed into a corner table at a local restaurant for one of the best meals of our lives. We let it happen, and there was no going back.

Since this trip, nearly 20 years ago, I have returned to Italy many times. I have traveled to Sicily, to Milan, to Verona and Vicenza, to Rome and Venice, to the Ligurian Coast, the Cinque Terre, Como, the breadbasket cities of Modena, Mantova, and Parma. I have seen the Ferrari Museum and eaten great food in Bologna. I have been awe-struck by the Byzantine mosaics in Ravenna and by the quiet beauty of Ravello and the Amalfi Coast (off-season). And then I discovered Abruzzo, which for me is the gateway to the Mezzogiorno. Southern Italy. And that’s where I found my heart.

Sulmona, in the mezzogiorno

Giuseppe Garibaldi famously said, after the unification of Italy in 1861, that now that they had made Italy, it was time to make Italians. This has been an ongoing struggle, especially between the north and the south, whose diverse economies and ways of life continue to create tensions in the country. So I am the product of both the north (Tuscany) and the south (Campagna) and, while I admire and appreciate the Tuscan sensibilities, I have found a home in the south.

Matera, in the mezzogiorno — the Cultural Capital of Europe in 2019!

It is a little ironic that my first trip to Italy was centered on Tuscany; we even spent a day in Siena, but couldn’t find a restaurant that was open so we moved on after taking in the Piazza del Campo (where the famous Palio is held every summer) and then gaping at the huge fresco of “The Allegory of Good and Bad Government” in the city hall. I was so close to my nonno’s origins and had no idea. I will go back, this time armed with more knowledge about Clemente. My next trip to Tuscany will be like going home.

Buon viaggio!

Sulmona Italy Vacation Rental

Our Tiny Italian Flat

I was offered a free villa in Hollywood, but I said no thank you, I prefer to live in Italy — Ennio Morricone

 

This is our tiny flat in Italy. Stone and tile and wood in a 70 square meter structure that comprised the western wall of the city some 1000 years ago, with a lower level rumored to be Roman – a cantina, perhaps, for cold storage of wine and produce. When we are here, we rattle around together in this one bedroom, one bath, combined kitchen-dining-laundry room, with the strange but lovely lower level. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough.

At home in the States, we want more. We acquire, sometimes without even knowing why. In Italy, we are content with a few decent things and the rest from IKEA or the second-hand store. We have no TV or radio so we read at night after the passeggiata and dinner, if we are not out with friends. Or we go to sleep early and feel rested and not nearly as cranky as we do when we are back home. (Full disclosure: we do have internet!)

Sulmona Italy Vacation Rental

We are not naïve. We know there are problems in Italy. The children mostly leave towns like ours (and those much smaller) to go to the big cities – or even abroad – in search of meaningful work. The cash economy (read: under the table transactions and bribes), while being cracked down upon, still persists. There are high taxes but, like other places in Europe, residents actually get something for their money: health care, college, and retirement benefits.

Both Tim and I have had reason to avail ourselves of the local doctor and pharmacy here and, I can tell you, it’s vastly preferable to what we have to go through in our American system. Quick service, well-priced prescriptions, and no need for a note from my dead mother to prove who I am. They don’t even need my height and weight and a run-down of what over-the-counter vitamins I’m taking, because – let’s face it – none of that is relevant!

Sulmona Italy Vacation RentalThere are few or no good jobs in Italy at the moment, but neither are there abundant job opportunities in the States for many folks. In the U.S., whole industries have been gutted in the middle part of the country; expensive advanced degrees are required for many fields; and most students come out with a Bachelor’s degree and tens (if not hundreds) of thousands of dollars in unforgivable student loan debt. Most millennials I know have to juggle two or three or even four jobs to make a viable living and are still enduring roommates well into their thirties. The concept of buying a house is foreign to them. Marriage and children are delayed. It’s a whole different world than the one I grew up in and I feel terrible for them.

It goes without saying that the government in both places is largely corrupt, and we know that. Still, I guess what we can’t understand (either by language or cultural experience) won’t hurt us directly, as long as we don’t live here full time. So, all in all, we prefer the place with the great food, the saner pace, and a population that is not suspicious or stressed out all the time. Plus, they don’t seem to have any gun violence nearby; in fact, most people say they leave their doors unlocked here, there’s so little crime. Our Italian friends are terrified for us every time they hear about another mass shooting. They think we live in the Wild West. I’m beginning to think they’re right.

These are strange days, living this transatlantic lifestyle. When we’re in Italy, we often miss important events going on in the States. When we are back in Massachusetts, we miss Italy terribly. It’s a neither here-nor-there existence at the moment, but hopefully that will change.

We’d like to spend more time in our tiny flat – maybe 4 or 5 months a year. We’d like to live more like locals here and stay without feeling like we have to leave right away. We have good friends here already; I am looking forward to writing more here, and I know Tim is already making a list of the causes he wants to take on. Time is the enemy, of course.

For now we go back to our tiny flat for a total of three weeks every year; the rest of the time we are in Italy, we are taking small groups of travelers around to our favorite places. We’ve been to Rome, Assisi, Venice, Vicenza, Le Marche, Matera, Trani, and countless spots in Abruzzo. We never tire of it. We live for the reactions: the first time a traveler sees the Trevi Fountain, climbs up to Roccacalascio, eats a fig right off a tree, makes her own pasta, tastes real gelato for the first time . . . it’s magic. We want to make more of it.

But we always come back to our tiny flat: the place with the amazing vaulted ceilings that is walking distance to the park and the best restaurants in town. If you want a self-catering experience, our tiny flat is for rent over AirBnB, and we’d love to share it with you.

If you’d like to take one of our small group tours (designed for people who don’t like tours), we have two coming up in 2018: one to Rome and Abruzzo in glorious May, and one to LeMarche and Abruzzo in time for the harvest in October.You can find information about both of them here.

We hope to see you here one way or the other! Casa Linda

 

Buon viaggio!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gabriele, the Dog, and the Genius

I just returned from leading a glorious tour up north in Italy, to Vicenza, the city of Palladio, and Venice, La Serenissima. In addition to having a blast with a return group of travelers — plus two new friends — I had some nice inspiration time on trains and in my room. Here’s the first story to emerge . . . LDJ

 

Gabriele, and his blonde spotted dog, 16 years old and nearly deaf and blind, walk slowly together in sestiere San Marco, looking curiously like brothers. Gabriele’s sandy grey ponytail and the dog’s floppy sandy ears move in time to the water in the canals being stirred by the pivoting gondolas in front of the Hard Rock Café. The staff at our hotel know Gabriele and his dog. They approve of our encounter when we tell them the story later.

The two go to work at the small art store every day. The dog takes up his post on a raised canvas bed behind the cash register. He is even too old to greet the customers any more. He just sleeps, shifting every now and again to catch a sea bird in his dreams.

Gabriele, meanwhile, gets the shop ready for the tourists – too many tourists, he says. They buy a postcard or two or a cheap print of the Rialto Bridge and leave. But they are not his market anyway. No, Gabriele is here for the artists of Venice. He sells what they most need: canvas, brushes, paints, mats, drawing pencils, and fine Venetian papers to line the covers of hand-made books. The tourists see none of this.

We speak to Gabriele and ask about an artist whose work we have just seen on the island of Torcello the previous day. His name is Leonardo D’Este. Gabriele’s eyes widen as we say the name. Yes, he says, he is a friend. A most gifted artist.  A customer too, he says — he was just here yesterday buying supplies. He says “Leonardo” and puts out one hand, palm up. Then he says “Leonardo” again and puts out the other hand. It is a comparison. The two Leonardos. We all agree.

Young Leonardo (age 44) is a master portraitist. We tell Gabriele the story of how we met his mother, Aurora, on Burano, at the restaurant where he works as a waiter. He was not there, but another waiter called Aurora and told her that some people had come to speak to Leonardo. He was back in Venice, buying supplies, it seems. We told Gabriele about how she is so proud of her son that she took us to his studio to see his work, apologizing as we walked for the humbleness of what we were about to see and the fact that nearby construction was making a lot of dust.

He paints in the morning, when the light is good, and then works at the restaurant when he is finished. He does only commissions, it turns out, and only from life. Never from photographs. When we saw his work at the restaurant Villa 600 on Torcello, we thought we were looking at old masterworks. Rembrandt, perhaps, or possibly John Singer Sargent. But on careful study, it is clear that he has contemporized their style a bit, while maintaining the old light emerging miraculously from the dark background. The faces are fantastic. Genius.

Leonardo’s small studio is strewn with books by both Rembrandt and Sargent. He is self-taught, and he studies them. His latest commission is enormous – an El Greco-sized full body portrait of a man with a background of glorious red and gold fabric. The portrait takes up most of the studio. Aurora shows us where the subject stands, where Leonardo stands, how he runs up to get close and copy the details, then runs back for a full view. We saw some completed works, one better than the next. He even had a small unfinished self-portrait which helped fill in some of the blanks about who Leonardo is. His is an interesting face: narrow, imperfect, not beautiful, but full of character. And maybe a little sadness, or maybe we are bringing that.

In any case, the studio is small, devoid of any kind of technology save electric lights. This drives his mother mad. No telefonino, she laments. Perhaps he is missing another commission and she cannot reach him. I will kill him; no, really, I will kill him, she says in her Venetian dialect which, astonishingly, we sort of understand. But that is not the case.

We leave our information with Aurora and tell her we’d like to contact Leonard for a self-portrait. This shocks her, and we have to say it several times. We want a portrait of her son, the son we have never met? Yes. He is a master and we want his self-portrait while it is still affordable. I think she is not sure of us, but agrees to tell him when he returns.

Next day we meet Gabriele and his dog. It seems that while we were talking to Aurora, Leonardo was here with Gabriele, buying more paint. Incredible. The dog shifts gently in his bed. Perhaps there is a little smile.

 

Buon viaggio!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Italian Tours

Tours for people who don’t like 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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Italian Vacation Rental Abruzzo

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.

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FROM THE BLOG

November 1 is Reclamation Day

There was only one sign for pumpkin spice anything, and it was at the train station in Rome. Starbucks, of course, and my apologies to all who love the fall-themed brew. But then there was the Trick or Treat sign on the Irish pub (!) in my Italian town of Sulmona. It was jarring. Halloween hasn’t yet come to Italy in a big way, and that’s fine with me. Call me a grump. Because the rest of the year (as most of you know) I live in Salem, Massachusetts where, over the past 20 years, Halloween starts in early September and runs through mid-November. The crowds are staggering – nearly one million people come into town on Halloween weekend alone.…

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