it's 40k kilometers around the world's circumference
We enjoy our Sicily’s day one
At the famous Scala dei Turchi
Where there’s much fun in the sun
And the water’s anything but murky.
With the town of Agrigento so close
These weather-formed white stairs
Makes the sun with temperature most
Much much easier to bear.
And while we sunbathe and read
Finding chalk everywhere rock touched
Slow is the only day’s speed
For this beach came through in the clutch.
We get back to Rome, again. Our plane arrives late enough so that we miss the bus back to the center of town. Cheaper than taking the train is sharing a cab among four people, which means that I try to find another lucky two to join Gabe and me in a taxi. The first two I find probably assume that I’m trying to hit on them although I’m not, and in retrospect, I can see how that might happen. However, I feel like “would you like to share a cab with us into Rome’s center” is a weak pick up line. That said, by starting with this awkward question, we eventually get to talking while waiting a very long time for our luggage, and once the bags finally come, we split ways and I gear up to try again. Gabe and I walk outside and I find a couple sitting with their stuff and enjoying a cigarette. I approach them, and in my broken Italian, I ask if they want to share a taxi. We have success, and are on our way into Rome.
The taxi drops us all off somewhere between our two apartments and because of the nice heat and humidity of Rome, Gabe and I work up a shvitz on our way back to Sam’s apartment. We are greeted by some delicious dishes that Sam has been working on for his culinary school final. Dinner is served with some of Sam’s “house wine”, which may or may not come in a bag, but nonetheless is perfect for the occasion (and much better than bags o’ wine I might find stateside). Post dinner, we head out for some gelato (of course!), and to a mojito bar that Gabe and Sam frequent regularly. With strong mojitos in hand, we venture down to the Tiber River.
Now in its tenth year, the commotion near the river known as Lungo Il Tevere Roma offers bars, clubs, snack stations, and of course souvenir shops. There is live music everywhere and access is easy and free. In short, we end up spending a bit too much time here and enjoy a fun welcome back into Italy.
I sit down and am immediately overwhelmed by the selection of pizzas at La Pratolina, a beautiful hole-in-the-wall restaurant located at Via degli Scipioni, 248, Roma. To intensify matters more, the menu is written in Italian, but luckily I have Gabe and Sam nearby to translate. The rule of the game, however, is once I find something that looks delicious, I need to close my menu because otherwise I could be indecisive all night. Eventually my gaze falls on the Pizza Emiliana with its pesto di pistacchi, mozzarella, silano, mortadella di cinghiale. I am not entirely sure what it all means, but as I work my way through the ingredients asking Gabe and Sam about each, I think this might be the one for me. Sam then grabs my menu and declares that my dinner has been decided. The two of them then proceed to pick out the fried appetizers that we will sample before the pizzas arrive. I forget what appetizer is what, but I enjoy them all and try to save room for pizza. Also joining us for this Italian feast is Benny and Diego, friends of Gabe from work. The meal does not disappoint, I enjoy an incredible pizza with fresh Italian ingredients, and all this in a small homey Italian restaurant. The waiter recognizes Gabe and as a result we get a couple extras along with better service. Although all of this in itself would make for a great evening, the night continues back at Sam’s apartment for drinks and story telling followed by an adventure to outdoor bars by the river until some hour that is much too late given that Gabe and I have a flight to catch early the next morning.
On the subject of things that taste good, during the day, Gabe and I went to Sant Eustachio Il Caffe (www.santeustachioilcaffe.it) and try a true Italian espresso. Even on a day as hot as today, this coffee shop was a great stop.
Somehow, during my last visit a couple weeks ago, I managed to spend two nights in Rome without tasting gelato, and despite giving Gabe a hard time ever since, he did not allow Katherine or me to have Gelato outside of Italy. My first taste of Italian Gelato came our first night in Pisa from a small place called De Coltelli (www.decoltelli.it). The gelato was delicious, creamy, rich, naturally colored, and perfect on a warm evening. I still remember starting with pistachio and chocolate, and then going immediately back for strawberry and peach. I am someone with an ever-present sweet tooth and a constant craving for diary (despite being a bit lactose intolerant). Therefore, ice cream and gelato always seem like the perfect snack. In the “The Docle Vita Diaries”, Cathy Rogers and Jason Gibb describe Italian gelato.
“Why is ice cream so much nicer in Italy? I mean, isn’t it just milk and then stuff that you can get anywhere like nuts and chocolate? Is it, like the coffee, something to do with having fancy machines that just do the job better? Or is there something they’re hiding? Because you go into one of those awful British or American places and the ice cream is just horrid by comparison – vulgar, crude, not even tasting of what it’s mean to. The Italians aren’t averse to the odd horrid flavour – a bright blue one named after the Smurfs that tastes of nothing on earth, at least nothing this side of Belgium– but at least it seems they’re choosing to do it, rather than doing it because they don’t know better.”
As an American talking gelato, I feel obliged to at least briefly discuss some of the differences between gelato, ice cream, and sorbet. I will start with good ice cream, and by good ice cream, I mean the kind that doesn’t use condensed or powdered milk. Good ice cream is made with fresh cream, eggs, and natural flavors. Ice cream is also overrun, which means that air is whipped into it, and the more overrun an ice cream, the softer and lighter it will be. Some ice creams even have extra air added to it; however, these ice creams would no longer fit under my category of “good” ice cream. Gelato, on the other hand, holds a minimal amount of air, and this accounts for its high density. As far as differences in recipes go, gelato will usually include more egg yolks and milk, and a little less cream. The fat content of gelato, because of the reduction in cream, is less than that of ice cream; however, because it is less overrun, it still maintains that very rich and creamy taste. Finally, sorbets are just fruit, sugar, maybe some lemon juice, and water, the amount of which can control the intensity of the sorbet.
Gabe is taking me on a gelato tour of the best spots in Rome in between visiting his favorite churches, plazas, and vistas around the city. We have already begun this journey, and will continue it when we return to Rome before traveling to Sicilia. I will rate, rank, and record this avventura del gelato upon its completion.
“Italian ice creams tastes so good it almost manages to convince you that it’s good for you.” -Rogers and Gibb
I feel I just left Rome the other day, but in fact, I have been bicycling in France and WWOOFing in Tuscany since I was last in Rome. That said, time that flies is the best type of time, and the last two weeks have been more than memorable. We separate from Katherine at the Cecina train station as she heads to the Pisa airport to return to London and we train back south. As we sit on the train, we feel the temperature continue to rise for each latitude line we cross, and by the time we are in Rome, the heat is intense.
While in Rome, we are staying with Sam, one of Gabe’s very good friends he made while living here over the last year. Similar to Gabe, Sam also lives next door to the Pope. The first night we are back, the two of them have a kitchen reunion and they whip up some delicious pasta with home-made sauce. I learn what real al dente means — there is actually a thin layer of white, uncooked pasta in the center of the noodle. The trick is taking the pasta off before it is done because it will continue to cook in the sauce before it is served. The meal is delicious and we top it off with a small glass of grappa that Gabe and I brought back with us from our time on the farm.
Sunday on the farm is a work-free day, and although we don’t find out about this day of rest until the day before, Ursula is quick to suggest we spend the day on Cecina beach and we choose to do just that. We “sleep in” on Sunday morning, but still get up for breakfast at 9am. Afterwards, we gather our towels, sunscreen, cards, books, and hats for the beach, and we set off for Cecina. The sand is covered with people of all ages each enjoying their Sunday. We find some lounge chairs and an umbrella to rent, and we continue to rotate around this umbrella for the rest of the day as the sun moves across the sky. Between playing cards, having a couple drinks, and sunbathing, we take a couple dips in the cool but very refreshing Mediterranean Sea. At the end of the afternoon, we meet Ursula at the town’s train station because Ursula is picking up the next WWOOFer, Nancy. In only a short time, we all feel that we get to know school teacher Nancy to whom I lend some clothes because her luggage was lost in transport. In short, this last day in Cecina and our last day WWOOFing is a great ending to a fun week.
The three of us did not know what to expect when we signed up for life on a farm, but our lack of expectation was complemented by an open mind. I am not sure when I will find myself back on a farm, but I am very happy with this week’s adventure, I am happy with the people I met, I am happy with the new lifestyle about which I learned, and most of all, I am happy that despite initially being slightly intimidated by the strict schedule, hot sun, and hard work, Katherine, Gabe and I not only made it through the week, but had an incredible time doing so.
As I knew I would be traveling to Tuscany to work on a vineyard, I felt it was appropriate to read Frances Mayes’ book “Under The Tuscan Sun.” Mayes, between her descriptions of buying, renovating, and living in an abandoned house, describes her experiences of working in the garden and dealing with the locals. Most of the book was a bit flowery for my taste; however, as I did have grounds to relate to it, I made it through the more ornate descriptions of the food and the land. In addition, for a bit of advice in working on a vineyard, I found the below quote:
“Besides the practical, a host of enduring superstitions determine the best moment to pick or plant; the moon has bad days and good. Vergil, a long time ago, observed farmers’ beliefs: Choose the seventeenth day after the full moon to plant, avoid the fifth. He also advises scything at night, when dew softens the stubble.”
“Here we are in the middle of Tuscany, surrounded by forest, having sausages, salads, and wine with ten Germans and ten cats.”
About halfway through the evening, Gabe turns to Katherine and me and recites the above quotation. It may have been the wine or the many mosquitoes or maybe some allergic reaction caused by the litter of cats or maybe one too many sausages or even maybe the lack of English around the table, but whatever the cause, we all started laughing to the point of tears.
Ursula and Sigismund had invited the family staying at their nearby guest house and we all enjoyed a great meal of many different salads, sausages, and ribs. To help prepare, the three of us set the table and cut up the fruit for two large bowls of fruit salad. We did not know what to expect from the evening when it began, but it will forever be a fun memory from our stay on the farm.
Ursula loves to read and her library illustrates this well. Within minutes of arriving on the farm she is excited to have Katherine read her favorite book, “Cranford” by Elizabeth Gaskell. Although Katherine does not make it too far into the book, we are intrigued by the first couple pages of the book and how they might reflect on life on a farm. The first couple sentences of the book read:
“In the first place, Cranford is in possession of the Amazons; all the holders of houses above a certain rent are women. If a married couple comes to settle in the town, showhow the gentleman disappears; he is either fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the Cranford evening parties, or he is accounted for by being with his regiment, his ship, or closely engaged in busienss all the week in the great neighboring commercial town of Drumble, distance only twenty miles on a railroad.”
Then to elaborate more on the same theme, a couple pages later, we read:
“A man, as one of them observed to me once, is so in the way in the house!”
While sitting around the dinner table, I spot some white umbrellas on a nearby hill and optimistically think that these umbrellas must mean that there is a degustation. I convince Gabe and Katherine to take our next day’s afternoon excursion past said umbrellas, and although it appears to be more of a private home than a vineyard offering wine tastings, our plan is to walk up to them and let me introduce Gabe, who can speak great Italian. We walk the front path as they all stare in our direction, and as soon as I get close enough, I ask the obvious question, “Do you speak English?” They respond with a confused no, and to introduce Gabe, I simply point at him and explain that he speaks Italian. Before long, we are talking with the family from the house and are soon invited inside by Frederica (the daughter) for tea, snacks, and popsicles. We sit in the kitchen of this recently remodeled beautiful Tuscan home and start learning about each other’s lives. Frederica is currently studying linguistics in Pisa, and as a result, her English is great, although she still prefers to speak Italian with Gabe. Using my Spanish, I am able to understand most of what is transpiring, but I have more difficulty participating save for small phrases now and then.
After about an hour and a half of getting to know each other, I look at the time and realize that we are late for dinner on the farm, and given that the farm is run by Germans on a strict schedule, we start mobilizing quickly. As Frederica is walking us out, she tells us the story of a past run-in with Ursula and Sigismund, and we are immediately able to relate to her description of the many cats, the house, and of course, the couple. Finally, at the very end of our visit, she invites us to use the pool later in the week. This invitation generates one of the largest smiles on all of our faces given the high afternoon temperatures.
We return to the farm about 10 minutes late for dinner and are concerned what Ursula will say. Gabe and I run right up to the dinner table while Katherine goes downstairs to freshen up. Ursula indicates that our tardiness is not a problem and even gives us permission to wash up quickly. But when we return to our room, we convince Katherine that we missed dinner, Ursula is angry with us, and we will need to figure out what we want to do for food. We continue with this ploy for about 5 minutes before we start laughing and explain that if we don’t go upstairs to dinner soon, we might in fact miss it all together. Katherine sighs not knowing what to do with us and we all make our way to dinner.
When the next afternoon rolls around, we all grab our bathing suits and towels and head back over to the beautiful house with the white umbrellas and swimming pool. Frederica is not there, but we say hi to the rest of the family, and find comfortable lounge chairs near the pool. The rest of the afternoon is spent jumping in and out of the water interspersed with sunbathing. We decide that this Tuscan lifestyle might be easier to become accustomed to than daily work in the vineyard.
