'You may have the universe if I may have Italy' - Giuseppe Verdi
It is no secret that I have always loved Europe.
In fact, my affections can be traced back to when I was a wee girl and realized that pan au chocolat is French and that some of the most beautiful shoes in the world were crafted in Italy. See chickadee, it doesn't take much to get me lovestruck! In fact, both my kitchen and closet are practically shrines to my two greatest loves.....food and shoes!
Once in a lifetime, a girl gets really lucky and gets the opportunity to spend some time in the company of "slurpingly" good-pasta, decadent gelato and a treasure trove of leather purses. And so she packs her bags.
Darling, I'd love to serve you four generous courses from my recent adventures in the land of Amore -
Italy.
Antipasto (Appetizer) - Pescara
Picture a view of the Adriatic sea from a vintage hotel by the boulevard, in a city with tiny cars and cobble-stoned squares adorned with little cafes playing soft Vivaldi. Can you imagine it, chickadee? You can, eh? Then you're now experiencing my first awestruck moment.
April was just turning her pages, and the tourist season had not quite begun, so it was a wonderful way to make introductions with Italy and her delightful culture. Night after night of the freshest mussels, monkfish, razor clams and baby shrimp with a choice of two pastas, one red and one white.
You see, the Italians don't restrain themselves to just one carbohydrate; they'll have two. In moderation, of course. The wine was smooth and everything about this city and its inhabitants read "laid-back and inviting".
Having lived in America for a little bit, I shamefully admit that I've unconsciously adopted the culture of eating quickly and summoning for the cheque, shortly thereafter. Long forgotten is the art of savouring, lingering and waiting at a dinner table.
During our first week in Pescara, my group tried to stay true to our dining traditions and developed various strategies to outwit the Italians. We tried to get to the restaurant at 7:30pm (when hardly any patrons were present) in the hopes of being able to get the cheque faster if we moved through the meal with precision and speed. We failed!
We tried a smaller diner at about the same time, the following night. We failed yet again.We tried doing dinner at 8:30 and then 9:30 but each time our quips were no match for the waiter. Stumbling back to the hotel's lobby at midnight was becoming a routine.Night after night of the same "Cheque, please" slow dance. Epic fail!
And so we conceded and accepted the Italian way. We were humbled but a greater lesson was being imparted, unbeknownst to ourselves.
A short hiking trip with a breath-taking view of the Alps, a jazz concert in one of the oldest theaters in Chieti, lace-adorned shoes, driving through a modern highway in a teeny-tiny car with vineyards and hundred year old houses on either side and many, many scoops of gelato later, I was smitten.
By Week Two, there was less scurrying and more savouring. We were enjoying the thrill of biting into a fresh, juicy tomato and greedily dunking fresh herby, focaccia into cold, fruity olive oil.
And that my dear, was how this singleton finally started grasping
the art of eating and eating well.
On a slightly different topic, I am in love with all the Italian boy names. Giovanni, Rafaello, Camillo, Gaetano, Leonardo...sigh! Someday my son will understand why he has such a unique name.
Primo (First course) - Rome
A new travelling companion made her way into Rome. She's one of my leading ladies and the woman who taught me that it was
not a sin to not share ice cream. My mommy.
True to its place in our travel itinerary, Rome was a first course, indeed. It was heavy on the archaic and beautiful buildings: the Colosseum, the Pantheon. History tells us that the the epicenter of the Christian faith and the great Roman Empire were birthed here. It was by those fountains and the piazzas that great scholars, revolutionaries, apostles and artists debated and exchanged ideas day after day. Democracy, free thinking, captivity, nudity, art, literature, religion; all of it had been concieved in Rome.
But everyone has a favourite thing from their travels to Rome. I have three.
The first favourite - The fact that Raphael's lady love has been portrayed in his painting entitled 'The School of Athens'. Upon closer inspection, the picture depicts hoards of busy people. Everyone is engaged in something: a conversation, a book, weariness. But not her, not Raphael's lady. She looks straight ahead outside that canvass and I imagine, into the faces of the crowds that are admiring her beau's work. Incidentally Raphael makes an appearance in that painting as well. To tell you where this handsome man is, would be robbing you of the opportunity to see this lovely work for yourself so I withhold that tiny piece of information and urge you to go and find him. Find Raphael and you'll know why he has a place in history.
The second favourite - Sitting across from and gazing at Michaelangelo's 'Last Judgement' inside the Sistine Chapel. It was perhaps the noisiest place in the Vatican that day with two hundred adults and children in the same space. But I could neither hear anything nor move from my current position. Unfazed by the commotion, I was fixated, awestruck rather (there was some gaping even), by the work in front of me. Nothing could distract me from Michaelangelo's impressions of God, man and angels. Yes, my dear, it was THAT beautiful.
The third and my absolute favourite part about our Roman holiday- walking eight miles along the Tiber River hand in hand with mommy, under the canopy of trees along the embankment as we made our way towards the square of St. Peter's Basilica. Those of you who know me well, know that I am a lazy creature and hate exertion in all its forms. But this walk was the best one yet. Ofcourse, we took plenty of breaks and soaked in the comfort of two icy, cold beverages, but it was memorable, this
five and half hour stroll with my mother.
Secondi (Second course) - Florence
She is famous for her Chianti wine and enchanting views of the Tuscan vineyards and hill-country side. Michaelangelo and Raphael had been in her company, for a while, perfecting their work and their art. Unlike them, we only had the pleasure of Florence's company for a day.
Florence is incredibly picturesque and I think photographs more than words do her beauty justice.
Below is my favorite view from the Uffizi museum.
I mulled over my brief visit with Florence aboard the train that was leaving the station and my parting words to her were:
Florence, you beautiful city. You beguiling lass. I am under your spell. Your are every bit as beautiful as they say you are. Your vineyards and paintings are gorgeous. But you have bewitched me with your leather goods and their craftsmanship. I am hooked for life.
Dolce (Dessert) - Venice
I love dessert and you know that very well. How fitting then that we should conclude our week long taste of Italy by visiting this next city.
The first view of Venice was from a train bound towards Santa Lucia. The landscape had changed quickly before my very eyes. One minute, there was grass and fodder and the next minute there was a body of water. Our train boogie amidst a sea of deep blue. It was mesmerizing.
It was a cloudy afternoon in Venice and some light showers were imminent but there was no better way to be greeted by the city of canals with its great lovers and love stories. Ma and I were spell-bound by the view of the dome, the canals, people hopping on and off the vaparetto, colorful Carnivale masks, gondolas and Murano glass.
I also have to say that this charming city holds some sort of invisible love potion. Why, you ask? Its because something about being in Venice makes couples hold hands, whisper sweet nothings into each other ears and and exchange deep, long kisses in the middle of a furiously rocking boat, where crowds of people are shoving each other to get in or out. I witnessed about a hundred of these public displays of affection, so I speak from first hand-knowledge - Everyone is a romantic here. And you know this is a hard confession coming from a girl who cringes and rolls her eyes at all that lovey-dovey stuff.
My mother was taken by a painter who was standing at St. Marks Basilica and making a real-life impression of what lay before him. Literally, from his eyes to his canvas.
You just don't see real art come to life anymore.
It was still cloudy when we walked along St. Marks Square, its very narrow streets,window-shopping, enjoying steamy slices of hot, fresh from the oven, margherita pizza whilst standing at a bar table, running our fingers through Venetian cotton, entranced by the music from a quartet of violinists. I had to pinch myself in between. This wasn't a movie. This was life in Venice.
I momentarily envied people who could escape to this wonderful place at a moment's notice and not have to succumb to ten hours in a plane over the Atlantic.
I repeat, I am not lovey-dovey and not one for public affection but at the airport when we said our final good-byes,
I couldn't let my mum's hand go. For the past week, we had discovered a lot of new things together. We had burnt our tongues on hot pizza, hopelessly twirled our spaghetti strands and devoured pistachio gelato. We had taken turns lugging bags of food and gifts for our important people. We helped each other carry and tow, three very heavy pieces of luggage both in and out of a busy train (I'm sure I heard some Italian swearing off the bloody foreigners who don't know how to travel light). We laughed a lot, my mother and I. She glowed and basked under the cover of trees and I loved making her pose for pictures . She unpacked and repacked in every city and organized things neatly while I muttered how I was never going to be like her. She held my hand when the crowds were large. We had exchanged scarves and lipsticks, secrets and some heart stories. We'd become closer. A lot closer.
That's the thing with mothers and daughters. As they grow older, the emotional distance between them wanes away. They become girlfriends. If only we'll let it.
On the train ride back, while the gondolas were quickly disappearing and the raindrops were slowly dripping down my window, I made a promise.
A promise to come back here again with someone. The Someone I was meant to share a lifetime of desserts and a closet space with.
