TOSCANA...and other such hilltop towns...

Italy.

*sigh*

This shall be the very, very condensed version of my past week. Just the highlights. You don't want 200 photos in one blog post, trust me. I haven't blogged sooner because, well, I HAD NO INTERNET! *pulls out hair* What is this world coming to, when you travel to distant lands and stress because even your 3G gets all Italian on you and takes siestas throughout the day? Ugh. Moving on...

We've spent almost the entire week gallavanting about the Tuscan countryside. We went to Sansepulcro and watched their annual Palio della Balestra Festival – a medieval crossbow match.

The target after all competitors shot

My favorite

The next day we went to Montepulciano, where New Moon was filmed (*clears throat* Alice’s car? Volturi?) then on to Montalcino for some Brunello tasting.

Me with Montepulciano in background

The building Edward stepped out of...the fountain was built
for the square since there is none.

The streets of Monetpulciano

I also want to take a moment to inform you, if you didn’t know, that there really aren’t any “major” roads in Tuscany. Sure, you might have a freeway here and there, but the “main” roads in lovely Toscana feel like your neighbors long and windy driveway.  After a full day of feeling like I was going to throw up (yes, I'm very sensitive to motion which I find it highly inconvenient ), me and Dramamine were best friends.

Near Montalcino with abbey in background

The next day we went to San Gimignano (pronounced “Jimmin-yahno”, unless you’re the GPS, who insisted on calling it “Jimig-Nane-oh”. Come to think of it, hearing a GPS say Italian words was quite entertaining…). In San Gimi, we had our cooking class. We made homemade pasta (pici) and bruschetta and sauces and panzanella and chicken…and our teacher picked the herbs fresh from her garden. Our dear teacher said, “The secret—“ she wagged her finger “—wait, there is no secret. Everything must be fresh!” Oh, and never—and I mean NEVER—serve bread with pasta. When we told her that is how it’s done in the States, her jaw dropped and her eyes bulged and she said, “Oh, noooooo!”

View from the Fortress in San Gimigniano

Homemade pici and cheeses (um, NOT homemade :D  )...Mmmmmm!

By the way, a staple of Toscana is fagioli (cannellini beans). They're on every menu as a side, and we always ordered it to share. It's my new favorite food group. Also, a little warning about the shops and restaurants here. They open and close when they want. On three different occasions, my uncle had a restaurant picked out, but when we arrived, they were closed for whatever reason. O_o


Okay, and something else really random. They sell paprika seasoned Pringles here. Yeah, I know I'm in Italy. Why am I eating Pringles? Well, my uncle bought some for our long car ride (not a lot to choose from at gas stations...) and THEY'RE DELICIOUS! We ended up buying Pringles for every car ride. I'm going to buy a few packs for the return trip...


The next day, in my Dramamine-induced coma, we headed for San Marino. Like the Vatican, it’s its own small country. It took us all of a windy, narrow three-hour drive to get there, and it was beautiful!

From the top of San Marino, Umbria in background (and a "perspiring" raincloud...)

The next day was Assisi (my personal favorite…mostly because I like to climb around in ancient castles)

Assisi

Me on top of the castle wall...scary....no railing!

I LOVED this long corridor! It went between towers...

Alas, we’ve arrived in Roma, where we ended this jaunt. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen the Colosseo, it always amazes me. And I always have to take a photo of it ;) I find it incredible that people and cars and mopeds and busses drive down cobblestone streets, and…BAM! There’s the Colosseum.

Spanish Steps - finally, without scaffolding!

Colosseum. Wait, does this even need a label?

NEVER drive in Rome. Never, ever, EVER! There aren’t lanes, and even when there are, people ignore them. Cars go everywhere, triple park, quadruple park, taxi’s drive on sidewalks, mopeds try and take off rearview mirrors—I usually close my eyes in the taxis.


Flying back home tomorrow. It's been a WONDERFUL vacation, but I miss Ben and can't wait to see him.


Thanks for joining me on this adventure.


Ciao e buona sera!


***If you like YA Fantasy, check out my book, GAIA'S SECRET. The sequel is coming soon!

This Week in Food: Socca

Layered Casserole with Beef, Cabbage, & Potato

Since I've been on this unintentional trend of "one-pot-meals", I thought, "Hey, why deviate?" So, rather than change that trend, I opted for changing the region. ITALY! The recipe brought to you buy Lidia Matticchio Bastianich (thanks for the beautiful Italian cookbook Uncle A!)

Socca is from Valle d'Aosta, a region located in the northwest corner of Italy. It's nestled right in the western Alpine range surrounded by infamous peaks like the Matterhorn. (Yes, the inspiration for the Matterhorn ride at Disneyland. I wonder if that's also where they got their inspiration for the abominable snowman...)

The dish itself is exactly what the English name says (see above): a big casserole with slices of beef, shredded cabbage, and sliced potatoes (all nicely seasoned with a sort of homemade pesto). It bakes for a couple hours, then bakes again, covered with a layer of shredded fontina, which then bakes into a crusty cheese topping. Needless to say, the smells saturating our home made my mouth water for 2 hours straight.

Could it get any better? Yes. It could. We ate it.

And we'll definitely be making this one again. Anyone interested? :)

An Unexpected Lingua Franca

I had to document this story--something that happened to me earlier this year. It is too priceless to chance times expected dissolution of my memory.

If it isn't particularly obvious from my blog, I have a sort of fascination with Italy. I go as much as I can (which, of course, isn't nearly as much as I want), delight in their delectable delectable's, revel in their history and bewildering architecture, mimic their gesticulations, indulge in their bountious wine lists...you get the point.

Prior to our trip in January, I decided it was time to learn their language. So, I began teaching myself the summer before. Pimsleur is excellent. I practiced and practiced--all in anticipation of our upcoming trip. Eager to overwhelm some poor Italian with my bad grammar (have you seen how many verb forms they have?! It's enough to make one fall over senseless and have nightmares about attacking verbs).

We flew all night and landed in Roma, picked up our luggage and headed to the Termini to catch a train to Firenze. Italians were everywhere, speaking Italian. My ears were in raptures. If only someone would speak to me. Someone. Anyone.

We boarded the train, and lo! An older woman was in the car, about half Ben's height, with short blond hair. This didn't discourage me much. Not all Italians have dark hair. I just wanted her to talk to me. She scowled at us as we approached, meandering down the narrow walkway, looking for a seat. And then, without warning, she stabbed her pointer finger at my face and started yelling. And it wasn't Italian. I didn't know what it was.

Wide-eyed and confused I glanced back to Ben who was just as confused. The woman continued pointing at us and pointing to her things, while yelling--yelling louder thinking increased volume would some how miraculously make us understand. Through her movements, we gathered she wanted help moving her luggage to the shelf overhead. Once that happened, her eyes twinkled and she gifted us with smiles all around. She knew absolutely zero Italian. And almost the same amount of English.

Very slowly and deliberately I asked, "Where are you from?" with particular emphasis on that last word. My hope dwindled as she bit her lip, looked up to the ceiling in thought. And then very decidedly she said: "Moscow!"

So we wouldn't be speaking Italian. We wouldn't be speaking at all. But then she suddenly turned to me: "Sprechen sie Deutsch?" she asked, to which I answered, while laughing, "Ein bisschen" (a little).

So there we were, on a train in Italy on our way to Florence. Speaking very fragmented German to a Russian lady.

I love Europe.