Buon appetito

What's that Sue, you have something to say?

Andrea and Ray

One of our objectives on this trip is to enhance our culinary abilities.  Ray is already quite adept with cooking but as my family will attest to, I could do with some more training.  Without spending a week in an old farmhouse in Tuscany and living with a group of 8 in the chef's home, it was very difficult to find cooking classes for tourists (ie. not training to be a "real" chef).  I finally found Andrea offering lessons in a little restaurant in our favourite neighborhood of Trastevere.  When I contacted Andrea for information, I was envisioning a cute blond girl from North America giving cooking lessons in Italy.  As it turns out, Andrea is a gorgeous young Roman man (see picture of Andrea and Ray).  His girlfriend, however, is a cute blond from US who works with him.  Andrea portrayed the exact image I have a young Italian man.  He has long dark hair, he has been in the "family" restaurant business his entire life, he went off to university and got a degree in business and tried the finance industry and then at the young age of 30, decided that this was not what he loved and came back to the restaurant.  He has found his passion in being a chef and a teacher.  Further more, he speaks with such passion and his voice gradually gets louder the more passionate he gets on a subject - don't ask him why he doesn't use more garlic!  He is a gentle soul yet he shouted at an 80 year old couple who had parked their car "incorrectly" and he couldn't get his scooter out.  Don't mess with Italians on the road. 

We have returned to Andrea's class twice now and we are meeting him and his girlfriend at a wine bar (likely at around 2:00am one night when he gets off work).  We have learned many little tips that will ease our, or should I say 'my', cooking stresses.  Did you know that it is the easily removed "heart" of garlic that gives you indigestion?

Roberto and Ray

We also attended another cooking class when we were in Florence but nowhere near as fun and personal as Andrea's class, even though our Chef, Roberto, was a gorgeous dark haired passionate Tuscan (see picture of Roberto and Ray).  We now know the qualifications to become a chef in Italy.

Buon appetito,
Sue

The sun showing off

I'll let the picture do the talking.
A sunset over the river in Florence (click to enlarge).

Sue and I captured this photo and many more like it on our way to a cooking class in Florence. When we got to the class and met the chef, I mentioned the phenomenal sunset we just saw over the river.  As I instinctively went for my camera to show him, he said in a very patient voice, "I've seen it".
I guess you can get used to anything.

People-watching in Tuscany

While spending almost a week in the internet-deprived yet still beautiful region of Tuscany, we sat in an outdoor wine bar/cafe in the main piazza in Siena. If you've never been, it's a huge square that transforms into a horserace twice a year. While there were no horses to watch, observing the locals was nearly as fun.

• We watched groups of older men, wearing Rat Pack hats, passionately talking about something. I'm not sure I see men huddled in Canada without drawing suspicion.
• Women appear to have skipped their 30's. Lots of pretty 20-somethings, then it appears that life and the sun have beaten them and their skin into their 50's. I haven't given the same scrutiny to men, but it's probably the same.
• Men walking arm-in-arm. It's actually quite touching and sad that such forms of male bonding would only garner stares in North America. I was one of the few staring in Italy.
• Shiny, puffy coats are in. I hope they remain a European phenomenon.
• My god, they smoke a lot. I haven't seen so many people rolling their own cigarettes since me and Mike got paid a nickel a cigarette in the 70's.
• Bleached blond italians can legally be used as a flotation device. Their botoxed lips alone have been known to save many a drowning man. Actually, we are physically startled each time we see such a creature.
• Pleasantries become arguments which become shouting matches which become warm embraces, and that's all in the time it takes to sample and reject the tasteless crusty bread.
• With more determination than I know, an old Italian man shuffles across the piazza one inch at a time. 
• Three kids play with a soccer ball and frankly I'm not impressed with their ball control.

Several times throughout our people-watching, loud explosions that sounded like canons went off in the square. Loud enough to shake our table and to startle Sue... and scare me. The locals didn't even react. When we asked the waitress what the sound was, she simply said, "I don't know, it hasn't happened before".  Whatever it was, it wasn't sufficient to stop the Italians from being Italian.

You say ecstasy, I say potato

The photo is of a beautiful Bernini sculture called "The Ecstasy of St. Theresa". Bernini was to Michelangelo what Jacqueline Smith was to Farah Fawcett. Both exceptional, but we only talk about Farah now.

In case you thought the church was somehow anti-sex, here is St. Theresa's own description of her "ecstasy" that Bernini captured in his statue:

I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it. The soul is satisfied now with nothing less than God. The pain is not bodily, but spiritual; though the body has its share in it. It is a caressing of love so sweet which now takes place between the soul and God, that I pray God of His goodness to make him experience it who may think that I am lying.

I don't need to add anything, do I?

Now that I understand the bar for sainthood, I would like to nominate Danielle Steele for beatification.

Bravo St. Theresa, bravo.

9 1/2 weeks

No, this isn't about the Oscar-worthy performance of Kim Basinger. Our Roman Adventure is now 9 1/2 weeks old. But I am happy to talk about Kim anytime, off-the-record.

While sipping yet another glass of wine overlooking a little village waterfall, we jotted down some of the things we miss back home and some of the things we know we'll miss when we leave Rome. Here's a sampling..

Things we miss from home:

• Family and friends - Whew, got that one out of the way. 
• Space - There are obvious things like our big shower (although I've now mastered the semi-erotic art of showering without a shower curtain). But we also miss space on the sidewalk when you're walking, or the difference between driving alone in a car and fighting for elbow room in a packed bus. Being 3 inches from a guy who doesn't believe in deodorant will help you define your own limits on personal space. And there aren't enough beautiful women (Sue excepted) riding public transport to tip the balance against space. 
• A big cup of coffee - Unlike everything else here which is laid back, drinking "cafe" or espresso is more like the ritual of taking your vitamins - 30 seconds done standing up.  We really miss sitting at the Heuther Cafe nursing a Large Hazelnut free-trade coffee for 45 minutes.
• A daily sense of accomplishment - Maybe you retirees can relate. We miss looking back on a day impressed with what we accomplished. There are some days when showering was the toughest thing I tackled (see previous comment about no shower curtains).
• A sense of belonging - I'm not talking cosmically, just not always feeling like a tourist. You can almost see their eyes glaze over when Italians realize you're not a local. We miss being locals. 
• International foods - We can probably walk to 500 restaurants, but 490 of them serve the same menu. I'm sure true Romans know the difference between Luigi's Penne Carbonara and Mama Enzo's Carbonara, but would it kill you to let a Thai restaurant into the neighbourhood! You wouldn't believe how excited we were to find a pita place, complete with baklava. 
• Peace and quiet - When we do our little day trips to the Italian villages, we are struck by how quiet it is. We miss sitting on our deck with just the wind and the birds... and those damn dogs next door (Serenity Now, Serenity Now).

Things we'll miss about Rome:

• Pedestrian lifestyle - We love walking everywhere. And once you don't have a car as a crutch, a 45 minute jaunt feels normal, rather than the "exercise" it feels like at home.
• The language. This is where Sue and I differ (along with her love of our 4 flights of stairs), but she will definitely miss hearing and speaking Italian. It just shows what a positive attitude will do. I'm happy to wait it out. 
• The flow of wine. It's not that wine is more accessible in Rome, but it just feels right. It's like eating hummus in Israel or Tim Hortons in Canada. 
• Meeting new people. We'll miss going to Irish pubs and meeting other English tourists. Or going to Ireland and meeting friendly locals. Everyone has an interesting story to tell. We've been going to the Duke of Wellington in Waterloo for years and I don't think we've had one meaningful conversation with a stranger - it's just not done... but maybe we'll try next time.
• Ease of travel. You can catch a $50 flight to half a dozen different cultures. Taking off to another country for the weekend is easily done here. 
• Living simply. While this one is completely in our control, something tells me we'll quickly fall back into our 2 car, 3 baths, 3 TV, PVR existence. 

Our next deep conversation over wine will tackle what we can do to keep the good of Rome when we return home. In the meantime, we'll keep skyping friends and family and eating pasta. No... we're not complaining.

Italian dogs

Those who know me well were expecting this post eventually. Dogs also bark in Italy.

We were having a great city experience, getting used to sounds of cars, scooters, maintenance workers, pigeons, and angry Italians. And then it started. The deep woofing sound of a large dog. It would start in the morning and continue throughout the day. The odd midnight barking session was also thrown in. You might be surprised to know that I'm not concerned about my own sanity - I've matured. But I read a very interesting article on the impact of pets on the environment - http://www.newscientist.com/article/mg20427311.600-how-green-is-your-pet.html. Apparently they rank up there with SUVs as the big sinners against Al Gore's earth. Every time I heard a woof, a tear welled up for the poor polar bear. With every howl, another island in the south Pacific sunk. It's not that I hate dogs, it's that I love David Suzuki more.

I am sure the dog next door would have a lesser impact on the environment if it moves a couple of kilometers down the road.

Our Irish pilgrimage

Ireland, where do I start? From the moment we got in the cab and checked into the hotel, we were greeted by the friendliest people you can imagine. Our first night in Dublin was spent at a "traditional Irish house party". Of course, it was a tourist's version, but stlll a lot of fun. For those who have seen the movie "Once" that we've been evangelizing for a couple of years, they have a house party scene where friends gather and everyone is expected to sing, dance or otherwise entertain the group. We simulated this pretty well. I shocked Sue by volunteering for the Irish dancing portion of the night. Sue shocked me back by not volunteering along with me. Two members of the audience also got up and sang solo for the group which was very authentic.

We did the mandatory Guinness brewery and Jameson distillery tours in Dublin and of course hit a good sampling of pubs with Irish music. Although after they mixed in two Simon Garfunkel songs and a John Denver song, we realized that the musicians were likely tired of singing Molly Malone ("Alive, alive oh!") and other classics. There wasn't a Danny Boy in sight. Unlike Rome where they would sell out their Nona for a buck, the Irish were more discerning in what they played.

As great as Dublin was, we set off for the authentic part of our Irish trip. We rented a Mini, complete with manual transmission and headed 3 hours across country to Galway Bay. When offered an automatic car for 10 Euro more, Sue was quick to point out that stickshifting with your left hand was part of the adventure. I agreed and didn't regret it until the first roundabout only a few hundred meters into the journey. Actually, we did great driving. As always, it was the tension around navigating and missing exits that caused the volume inside the car to rise. We were quite smug in our ability to drive a standard on the "wrong" side of the road.

Checking into a B&B in Galway was the first indication we were about to experience authentic Ireland. As we sat in our first pub, Tig Coulis, and listened to traditional Irish music, Sue made a smiling comment to the 60 year old local sitting next to us at the bar. Well, he lit up like a molotov cocktail and starting telling us his life story. Ok, he wasn't exactly making eye contact with me, but in case I haven't mentioned it before, Sue is big with the over 60 crowd. It's always fun to hear an interesting memoir over a free Guinness courtesy of the local and Sue's smile.

The next day we headed out for a driving tour of the countryside (Connemara). We were met immediately by a rugged beauty dotted with sheep. The countryside is rocky the way Saskatchewan is flat. Clearly no fruit or vegetable would grow on this land, but for some reason, blue and red sheep roamed quite free. Ok, they weren't actually blue sheep, but they were all spray painted with colourful spots. We were told later that the colour let the farmer spot his sheep in the midst of a rocky countryside. Add sheep farmer to the list of jobs off limits to the colour blind.

The country is also where the driving got more interesting. The roads were very narrow, even for a Mini, and it was fairly common to hear Sue scream as the brush rubbed up against the left side of the car while I veered away from the center line. And yes, when Sue took over the driving, I screamed at a slightly higher pitch than she had.

Nearing the end of our 5 hour countryside tour, we decided to cap off our Sunday drive with a stop at a small village pub for a pint of Guinness with the locals. When we entered, we found a couple of dozen 22 year olds on day three of a Stag for one of boys. They had been drinking since Friday evening but couldn't have been friendlier. Instead of keeping to themselves, they starting chatting with us, asking about our story. It turned out two of the guys were heading to Toronto in December to look for work. I've never heard Toronto called "brilliant" so many times. The recession has really hit Ireland hard, and I couldn't help but think we were reliving a bygone era of emigration in Ireland.

The groom-to-be was dressed in this superhero costume and was a real character. The outfit allowed him to stick memorabilia down his shirt and he wasn't shy about collecting items from their pub tour. We watched as he added to the collection by pouring a dish full of sugar and salt packets down his shirt... followed by the dish and salt shaker. He insisted on giving Sue a gift and fished out a light bulb. We couldn't accept.

We'll miss the people, the Guinness, the fish and chips, the Irish stew and the music. Ireland is brilliant.

Slainte!

Tu parli Italiano?

Sue here taking over the keyboard for the first time. I have now graduated from my two week intensive Italian course.  I am quite sad that it is over as the experience with the language and the other students from different countries was far greater than I ever expected.  Our teacher was fun and energetic and never learning our names, we became known by our nationality in Italian.  There were the Tedescians from Germay, Giapponese from Japan, and I was Canadese.  Other students were from the Czech Republic, a few from Brazil, Holland, New Zealand, and Poland.  Not one American in the bunch.  Stereotypes do not lie as after spending 5 minutes with each of them and seeing their appearance and mannerisms, you knew exactly where they were from.  I was the only one in the whole group that didn't know at least two languages.  Most of the students knew at least 3 and some knew 4 not including Italian.  North American is so tightly bound by a huge bubble.  

Likely due to my German roots, I immediately became friends with two German guys who were just older than Chris and Miles.  They helped me immensely with exercises and always made sure that when my turn came to announce the answer, that I was correct.  They were at the school for "tax reasons" as the German government  not only dictates that employees take 5 weeks mandatory vacation, if they choose to pursue additional education, they not only get it paid for, but they also get the time off to pursue this new learning (up to 2 weeks)!

The other students progressed much faster than I did and I have countless excuses as to why - they have already learned multiple languages, the other languages they do know are very similar to Italian and therefore translation is similar, and most were under the age 30.  The last time I took a language course was 30 years ago!  Those are my excuses and I'm sticking to them.  I am also proud to say that I wasn't the weakest in the class. Giapponese only appeared to master the Italian phrase for "I don't know". That being said, I am quite able to understand a fair bit and I'm starting to feel more comfortable communicating.

Dove si trova la toilette e devo portare Kleenex?

(Where is the toilet and do I have to bring Kleenex?)

On top of St. Peter's

After being here 7 weeks, we finally made it into St. Peter's Basilica. We had felt quite snobbish going down to St. Peter's square, sizing up the lineup and saying, "Nah, not today. Poor tourists."

But eventually we decided to spend 20 minutes in line and make our way into the church. We went to the Basilica the last time we came to Rome and fell in love with Michelangelo's Pieta statue and were in awe of the sheer size of the place. This time when we entered, it was no less impressive but the shock factor was gone. So we decided we needed to see or do something we hadn't done before. Since the church follows all blogs, I wasn't invited into the Vatican museum to see all their secrets, so we were left with the option of going up, way up.

It takes 550 steps to get to the top of the dome. For 2 Euros you can cut the steps by 200 and take an elevator part way up. But 4 Euros between us gets a drinkable bottle of wine so we decided to walk. Our four flights of stairs at our apartment was perfect training for the trek and except for a few claustrophobic moments when the stairs were about 18" wide and the arc of the dome forced you to bend to the side while you walk, we made it to the top.

So there we were with a hundred other people fighting for space on the railing that overlooks St. Peter's square. Now I'm not one to judge... ok, sure I am.  But I don't care how much you pretend that you're having a religious moment standing at the railing, you're supposed to have a look, take a few pictures then back away to let the next layer have a crack at the rail. Darn nuns.

My vertigo kicked in (makes it sound like a medical condition as opposed to just fear), so Sue was responsible for taking pictures. We eventually decided to descend to a lower deck below the dome and actually on the roof the Basilica. Although we had great rear views of the statues that adorn the roof top of St. Peter's, it was the souvenir shop that caught my eye. I can imagine the Pope and Cardinals discussing what was needed to get the young back to the church. I believe it was the hip cardinal from Chicago that suggested a rooftop patio, but they settled on the souvenir shop. I was lamenting the possibility of drinking a Corona on top of St. Peter's.

Given that Michelangelo designed the dome, it was a worthwhile adventure and I'm glad we conquered the Catholic Everest.