Post #34: Six Days and Two Gold Jackets

I consider myself lucky for a lot of reasons. One of those is that I have some amazing friends. And, I don’t think this is a biased opinion, but my friends are pretty amazing people. I’ve always known and appreciated being in such close proximity to amazingness through these friendships, but I am further reminded of my good fortune every time I am in their company. Which is why I was so excited to have one of my closest gal-pals, a UNH major-mate and post-college roommate, come to visit me in Italy. I knew it would be a memorable February vacation, and sure enough, I wasn’t disappointed.

During her visit, we covered nearly 1,000 kilometers in autostrade to have Aperitivi at my favorite café in Torre Pellice, a relaxing walk through Pinerolo piazzas, a 10km cross country skiing adventure in Entreves, a downhill skiing day in nearby Courmayeur, a shopping trip to Torino, and a relaxing day of exploration in Lake Como.

In these Northern Italy destinations, we drank some of Italy’s most prized beverages… daily capuccinos, a bottle of Barber d’Asti, another of Nebbiolo d’Alba, four glasses of Valdostano Rosso, at least a liter of house reds, not to mention the occasional Spritz Aperol. We ate some of the most delicious Italian meals…  handmade raviolo packed with Venison and accompanied by sautéed apples, four-cheese gnocchi, dainty, but delicious pastries, fresh olives and prosciutto, mouth-watering individual pizzas, and, of course, several flavors of oh-so-delicious gelato.

During our journeys, we also overcame life’s little stressors that come with territory of traveling to new places. For example, we maneuvered an over-sized station wagon through traffic, over a curb and onto an under-sized sidewalk parking spot angled maliciously between a tree and a van. We survived a claustrophobic trip up a steep mountainside funicular that was crammed with masses of pre-teens who occupied themselves with playfully beating up members of the opposite sex in the trademark adolescent attempt at flirtation. And, last but not least, there’s the occasional, but inevitable inconvenience of the language barrier.

Of course, these occurrences of temporary distress made up for an incalculably small fraction of the week when compared to the frequency of our happier moments. We watched a sunset cast it’s light on Lake Como from the shores of Bellagio, we basked in the sun in snow-stationed lounge chairs, we rode a gondola in the shadow of Mont Blanc. We celebrated a playoff victory with a post-game pasta dinner in Luserna. We marveled at the relative smallness of our world as we pondered the life’s coincidences. Most amusing was how we drank wine at “American Bar” in an Italian ski town with a group of Canadian pilots who were vacationing from their work in Hong Kong. And, who, just so happened to be staying in the same hotel as us across town.

As expected, laughter was an inevitable component to the week’s escapades. It was a consequence of taking an inside joke outside and wearing obnoxiously- or fabulously-(depending on your style) -gold pleather jackets in various Italian settings. It also followed my friend’s first introduction to Kevin’s teammates mere hours after landing in Milan. She was jet-lagged, but still beautiful, as a swarm of single guys vied for her attention and she stood helpless in the pack. To the innocent bystander, a sheep among wolves made for a humorous analogy. And, some of the most uncontrollable laughter was induced by the following epic ski falls: four graceless tumbles during what was presumed to be an easy cross-country skiing excursion, a wipe-out at the very start of our downhill adventure, and, finally, an Olympic-worthy ski jump that ended in a not-so-Olympic worthy landing.

All this, and I’m still not done. Because, as it is often the case with good friends, there are countless little moments that far outnumber the more spoken-about memories like the ones mentioned before. Moments that don’t warrant photographic documentation or even come up in later conversations where the friends are reminiscing about their shared histories. For example, how we sat outside in a sunny piazza in Torino, eating a piadine, drinking a Coca-Cola Light, and appreciating that it was warm enough to do so on a day in February. Or how we turned onto narrow cobblestone streets in Brunate just to see where they led. Or how we played cribbage while enjoying Chef Kevin’s signature meal of mushroom risotto and marinated veal. How we ran the hill loop from Luserna to Torre, rode the train to Torino, talked with two English-speaking Italians over a late-night gelato, smiled at a friendly old lady sweeping the road, sang classic rock ballads, swapped childhood stories, and so much more.

All this in six days. If there is a word for overwhelming, fulfilling, exciting and wonderful all at the same time, it would be applicable here. And it would be one of my favorite words in the dictionary.

The view of Lake Como from Brunate

The Funicular to get to Brunate

A street in Bellagio

Bellagio lakefront

Sun setting over Como

View from the lodge at one of Courmayeur's peaks

Downtown Courmayeur

A spot to lounge in the sun on the cross country ski trails

Cross Country skiing View

Post #33: Michelangelo's Chapel

I never realized that one room could contain so many pieces of exquisite Renaissance Art until I visited the Sistine Chapel. Sure, when I walked through the rooms of the Uffizi, I was dazzled by works from Lippi, Boticelli, Da Vinci, and more. But, my enthusiasm was containable because there were sections of blank space separating the paintings. I could stand before Boticelli’s Birth of Venus breathless, and then resume my intake of oxygen as I strolled around the room’s perimeter before reaching his equally impressive Primavera canvas that would ultimately render me breathless again. In other words, I’d compensate for my art-imposed oxygen deprivation with an exaggerated inhale while preparing to see the next breath-taking painting.

In the Sistine Chapel, I did not have this luxury. Blank space was not an element of the Chapel’s design. Every square inch of the ceiling and walls was painted in elaborate detail by some of history’s most established artists. Walking around the Chapel’s interior, even after having been told of what to expect by our tour guide, was a truly incredible experience. And, thankfully, my body’s natural breathing response was functioning properly. I didn’t have the opportunity to monitor my own breathing for the fifteen minutes that I explored what is, in my opinion, one of the Renaissance’s most crowning achievements.

On the lateral walls of the Chapel, you can see a cycle of frescoes depicting, on the one side, the life cycle of Christ, and on the other, the life cycle of Moses. As I learned from our knowledgeable and enthusiastic guide, they were commissioned to display continuity and transition between the Old and New Testaments and were completed between 1481 and 1483. These pieces to the Chapel’s interior were the contributions of some of the period’s most famous painters. Perugino, Boticelli, and others took part in painting the large scenes on the upper portion of the walls. Every detail was meticulously portrayed in each of the subsequent paintings to tell some of the most important stories of the bible. To see the individual paintings in the cycle of frescoes, visit: http://mv.vatican.va/4_ES/pages/z-Patrons/MV_Patrons_05_01.html

Below these frescoes, on the bottom portion of the walls are elaborately detailed painted drapes. Though lacking in biblical interpretation and less significant to the overall schemes of the Chapel, I found them to be deserving of attention in their own right. The colors and shades created the illusion that the drapes were three-dimensional. While varying in colors from blues to reds, each segment of illustrated drapery was accented by painted gold threading, a detail that even further embellished their richness. Only in the Sistine Chapel would the collective impressiveness of these fresco-covered, drape-adorned walls be overlooked. While the paintings create an indescribably appealing canvas, Michelangelo’s ceiling and entrance wall are unbeatable competition for a Chapel visitor’s attention. 

In 1508, Michelangelo began the four-year project of painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. The center of his masterpiece consists of nine panels depicting the following scenes from the Book of Genesis: The Separation of Light from Dark, The Creation of Sun, Moon and Earth, The Separation of Land and Water, The Creation of Adam, The Creation of Eve, The Temptation, The Sacrifice of Noah, The Great Flood, and Noah’s Drunkenness. While each of the pieces is immaculately well-painted, The Creation of Adam is perhaps the most famous. I’d seen the image of God and Adam, their two hands almost meeting, but I never knew that it was a piece of such an expansive work of art!

Ceiling Left

Ceiling Right

A Close-up of The Creation of Adam

Surrounding the nine scenes, Michelangelo filled the rest of the ceiling with paintings of other biblical figures and stories, over 300 in fact. Looking at the completed project collectively, it’s clear that Michelangelo was also a genius sculptor. His painting looks, like the drapes below, three-dimensional. The columns and figures gracing the edges of the ceiling seem to extend outwards from the painting. It is incredible that his profound understanding of perspective translates into such a beautiful illusion.

In 1535, Michelangelo was asked to return for another project. This time, his objective was to paint the wall behind the altar. He did so on a grand scale with his renowned Last Judgment, a portrayal of the Apocalypse and the resurrection of Jesus. The bright-colored painting shows clear contrasts between heaven and hell, with souls being carried to heaven by angels and others being delivered to the devil by the mythological boatman Caron. Jesus’ features in the painting are said to have been inspired by Michelangelo’s study of two ancient Roman statues, one of which portrayed the God Apollo. Around Jesus are several martyrs, including St. Bartholomew who is holding his skinned flesh. 

Being in his mid-sixties and, by this point, an acknowledged genius of the arts, Michelangelo was awarded a few liberties with this painting. For one, perhaps the most obvious, he combined Roman mythology with current catholic ideologies in his rendition of the second coming of Christ.  Less obvious, but equally outside the boundaries of the catholic dogma, he included a reference to his own homosexuality with a pair of embracing men in the upper right portion of the wall. And, perhaps my favorite digression is that he uses the painting to personally attack his biggest critic, Baigio de Cesana. The clever Michelangelo paints this papal master of ceremonies as Minos, one of the judges of the Underworld. The man can be found in the lower right-hand corner of the painting with donkey ears and a serpent biting his man-parts. This, I believe, is a clear example of why the pen (or paintbrush) is mightier than the sword.

Martyrs like St. Sebastian (with the arrows)

A Close-Up of Michelangelo's Critic as Minos

While the Pope that commissioned Michelangelo’s work overlooked the artist’s freedoms with the Chapel decoration, some clergy members, like Baigio, found the nudity in his painting obscene. To render the painting less abrasive, Daniele de Volterra was later asked to cover the private parts of its characters with cloth. His profession of modifying paintings in this way earned him the nickname of “Il Braghettone”. This translates loosely to “The Panty Painter”.

Despite the arguments that Michelangelo’s use of nudity was inappropriate for a holy setting, there is no doubt that his contributions to the Sistine Chapel are among the most beautiful paintings in the world. Those, together with the paintings on the lateral walls make the papal chapel a true wonder. Throughout our tour, our guide kept referencing the survival of paintings and excavation of ruins as miracles. I found her word choice completely accurate wherever it was applied as I too found it incredible that I was able to see things from centuries and centuries ago. But, it was especially so as I walked through the Sistine Chapel. I looked up at a Moses fresco, down to the illusion of gorgeous drapes, up to Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam, and over to his Last Judgment and I thought, this really is a miracle. 

Post #32: Holy Roma!

Today, my blogging has involved a lot of typing and an equal amount of backspacing. This means I’ve spent a significant amount of time writing about nothing. It’s my first experience with Blogger’s Block, if such a condition exists. And what a curious time for it to strike. I’ve just returned from a whirlwind awe-inspiring 36-hour tour of Rome and Vatican City, and here I am… speechless. The trouble is that I have so much to write about, that I can’t decide where to start. So I guess I will start at the beginning…

Since the opening of the hockey season, we have been planning to visit Italy’s capitol in conjunction with Kevin’s parents trip. We knew they were ending their two-week vacation there and that the dates coordinated nicely with a break in Kevin’s schedule. It would be a great opportunity to spend time with family and to finally see the most talked-about city in the country. We booked ourselves seats on the cheap one-hour flight and anxiously awaited our four day vacation. But then, unfortunately, Valpe got stuck in a losing streak. By the time the streak was broken, playoffs were only two weeks away, and the management and players recognized the need for additional practice sessions. Our upcoming four days off were reduced to two. Despite this disappointing glitch in our plans, we decided that a change-of-flight fee and reduction in trip length weren’t going to stop us from getting to Rome. We knew we would have a jam-packed schedule from our 12:00 pm Sunday arrival to our 8:25 am Tuesday departure, but we also knew it would be worth it.

And it was. In less than two days, and in spite of our shuttle car breaking down on the way from the airport to downtown Rome, we had plenty of time to see several of Rome’s most impressive sights. We took a three-hour guided tour of the Vatican Museum, Sistine Chapel, and St. Peter’s Basilica. We spent hours exploring the Roman Forum, Palatine Hill, and the Colosseum. Along with Kevin’s parents, we stopped for apperitivo before embarking on a night walk along some of Rome’s most famous streets, past beautiful piazzas, and breath-taking fountains. And we even had time to relax in the spring-like sunshine while sampling some of the city’s best gelato!

On the flight home, as I reflected on my visit to this historical city, I realized that it had an enormous effect on my Italy experience as a whole. And something about the trip, or maybe it was the air pressure, made me feel a little dizzy. I thought about the timing of the vacation in the course of our six month stay. Though our Rome vacation fell coincidentally into our penultimate month here, I thought about how it turned out to be the perfect place for it on the timeline of our adventures. Coming towards the end of our stay, it was as if all of our previous trips had been prepping us for this one. What we saw, learned, and experienced before embellished the knowledge and experience we gained in Rome and Vatican City.

On my trips to Florence, for instance, I’d visited several museums that contributed to my growing appreciation of art history. In the Galleria dell’Accademia, I'd admired Michelangelo’s David, the sculpture that rightfully demands critical acclaim as the personification of perfection and a benchmark in Renaissance art. In the Uffizi Gallery, I’d loved Renaissance paintings, specifically those by Leonardo Da Vinci and Boticelli. Having been exposed to the works of several great artists, I was all the more impressed by what I saw during this trip. In Vatican City, for instance, I had the opportunity to see another Michelangelo sculpture. St. Peter’s Basilica houses his impressive Pieta, an interpretation of Mary holding the dead body of her crucified son. It was his first masterpiece, sculpted when he was only twenty-three years of age. Then, in the Vatican Museum, I realized Raphael’s artistic genius in his famously painted rooms. Not to mention, Michelangelo’s prestige as a painter! His work in the Sistine Chapel, in my opinion, is incomparable to anything by anyone… ever.

Just as Rome widened my Renaissance art exposure, it also established relationships between architecture I’d admired in Italy. After having been to St. Mark’s Basilica in Venice, and the Duomo in Florence, it was truly an experience to walk through Rome’s Pantheon. Constructed over two thousand years ago for the gods, the temple’s dome was a model for those two churches. As tall as it is wide, and with a circular opening at it’s apex, the Roman temple is an astonishing architectural feat. I completely understand why the Renaissance architects of St. Marks and St. Maria del Fiore’s sought to bring this impression to the Venice and Florence basilicas.

As I further contemplated these parallels, I realized something. Basically, prior to coming to Rome, I knew the factual underpinnings of the Renaissance time period. I knew what Renaissance meant. Rebirth. I knew when and where the Renaissance took place.  From the 14^th  to 16^th centuries in Europe. I understood why the two centuries were given this name. Much of what was produced during the time bore semblance to products from the age of antiquity. Painters branched beyond portraiture to depict scenes from Greek and Roman mythology. Architects found inspiration in buildings from ancient Rome. In my exploration of several Italian cities, I’d certainly developed an appreciation for this era European history; I learned it’s what, when, where and why.

Then, when I went to Rome, I gained the missing piece to my understanding… the how. I learned how painters and architects used ancient works as inspiration for new creations. I saw the ancient Roman marble statues that influenced Michelangelo’s depiction of Jesus in his spectacular Last Judgment. I saw the sculpture discovered accidentally by a  countryman that ultimately changed artists’ rendition of human expression. I walked through the Roman ruins, and then through the Vatican Museum where those ruins were given new life in Renaissance art. It was indescribably rewarding to see how an era took shape. How historical characters found inspiration and used it fuel an enlightening. One that made Italy into what it is today.

And so, as much as Rome was an incredible trip in itself, it was also a culmination of my other stops in Italy. Venice, Verona, Florence, Genova, Bologna, Milan, Turin, La Spezia, and even this quaint little town of Luserna San Giovanni all of carry pieces of Roman and therefore Renaissance history. And, in the end, I think that is why I love Italy. Italy is Renaissance, and Italy is, in a sense, my Renaissance.

The Colosseum

I don't know why, but I found this sign amusing...

Walking along the river

The Pantheon

The Trevi Fountain

The statue that was found by a countryman

Michelangelo's Pieta, now behind glass because someone in the 70s attacked it with a hammer

Dome of the Pantheon

The floor of the pantheon. You can see it's slanted towards the edges for the water to go out.

The Colosseum by night

The colosseum as seen from the Vittorio Emanuele monument

Looking down on the ruins from a garden in the Forum

Post #31: Old Mindsets Die Hard

With the hockey season winding down, I’ve started to think about our homecoming move to New England. In particular, I’ve thought about finding housing, seeking employment, and applying for health insurance. While I’m ready to return to a living situation where I can speak the same language as my neighbors and hop in my car to visit family and friends, these thoughts have reacquainted me with some old stresses that have put my newly developed life mantras to the test.

When we first landed in Italy, I knew the end of the season would come and we would be forced to make some decisions about what to do next. While we had the tentative idea of living at my family’s cottage and putting money into much-needed renovations as a substitute for paying rent, our plans did not go much deeper than that. And, fortunately, my super-planner personality was bested by my Italy-inspired take-it-a-day-at-a-time alter ego. I lived every day to it’s fullest, and focused my energies on the things I’d missed in my previous years of living on a tight schedule.

But when I recently started considering what I should do for work when I get back, it led me to wonder what Kevin will be doing in the Fall. Would he even have a job in hockey? If he didn’t where would we go? If he did, what would I do? And what about the year after that… As the complex web of what-ifs unraveled in my mind, I couldn’t help but worry about what it would all mean for my career, for my life, for our lives.

And that’s the problem with worrying about what’s next… there’s always something after that to worry about too. And pretty soon you are worrying about a whole mess of things that you have absolutely no control over in the present tense!

When I realized what was happening, I stopped myself. I’d caught a glimpse of my former self. The Sarah that panicked without a carefully strategized next step, and spent a lot of her energies trying to control the uncontrollable factors in life’s path. I’d tasted a small sample of the worries that once overwhelmed to the point that I sometimes forgot to live in the moment. And I didn’t like it…

I acknowledged that, yes, the unknown is scary. But I reminded myself that the unknown is also exciting. The unknown is what makes life worth living… seeing what comes next is all part of the experience. I realized that while I can prepare for the unknown, I can’t necessarily plan for it. So preparation became my new focus…

With Homecoming Preparation the modified objective to my original Homecoming Planning scheme, I feel much better about the weeks to come.  I am increasingly excited to return to my New England home, but I am aware and accepting of the challenges it may bring. And, I am mindful that I have to continue enjoying every day that I have in Italy in the final weeks before we leave.

Post #30: Will the Next Wyatt Earp Please Stand Up?

It’s an unfortunate reality, but some things that need changing don’t change until something tragic happens. You know, the whole learning from mistakes philosophy that pulls a little something positive out of an otherwise devastating situation. So, when I heard about the shootings in Tucson, Arizona, my sadness was accompanied by the resolve that the tragedy should inspire change that would inevitably lead to a safer America. I mean, people would see the danger of allowing just about anyone to carry a concealed weapon. It was not the first time that an unstable individual walked into the equivalent of a sporting goods store and legally purchased a firearm that would take the lives of innocent civilians. Hopefully, this time, I thought, it would be the last…

But then I started following the debates that transpired in the wake of the chaos. I was nothing short of dumbfounded. I didn’t see the call for harsher gun laws that I was hoping for. Instead, I saw exactly the opposite. Claims that if more people had guns, the crazies with guns would be less inclined to use theirs and, if someone were to open fire, someone else could pull their weapon and take out the shooter. There are two assumptions to these assertions that are, for lack of a better word, ass backwards.

First, they assume that a crazed shooter is actually concerned about his/her own well being in a premeditated attack. Even the 22 year old in this situation left behind what could be regarded as a suicide note. An envelope in a safe saying the assassination was planned. He wasn’t writing that for his sake… if he planned it, then he knew damn well it was planned. That was left behind in case he didn’t survive, an acknowledged possibility that clearly didn’t stop him.

The second assumption behind these claims is that an ordinary citizen carrying a concealed weapon can make a split second decision to pull the said weapon and shoot the shooter without shooting anyone else or getting shot himself by another person who might misjudge his intention. This is a very big, and potentially hazardous train of thought. Even at this attack, there were two people in the crowd with their own guns. One mistook the other for the shooter and neither could take out the real shooter in the time it took him to fire 30 shots. There is a reason why police officers go through such intensive training. It is a tremendous responsibility to carry a gun, and an even bigger responsibility to use it! Though we would all like to think we would be immune to the panic that arises in the line of fire, we are not. And though we may like to imagine that we are secretly harboring innate bad-guy killing skills like the ones we seen in action movies, we are not. Giving me a gun would make me armed, but probably more dangerous to other innocent bystanders than to the crazed shooter.

Since terrorists like the one in Tucson would be more-than-likely undeterred from their attacks by gun-wielding amateurs like myself and since most of us do not instinctively know when and how to operate a firearm, the arguments circulating in support of guns for all are absolutely ludicrous.

As crazy as it seems to advocate for possession of concealed weaponry throughout college campuses and beyond, the most recent shootings call attention to perhaps an even bigger issue: the type of guns that are legally available for purchase. While possessing a concealed firearm arguably falls within the realm of second amendment rights, I find it difficult to accept that anyone can buy a semi-automatic pistol with a 33-bullet clip. What other purpose does a Glock like the one used by the Tucson perpetrator serve than to kill a lot of people? Hunting rifles are for hunting. Handguns, some believe, are for self-protection. Semiautomatic weapons do not have a place in the hands of everyday citizens. Bottom line.

As debates rage on, I can’t help but think that gun control isn’t a place for politics. It’s a place for common sense. The support for weaker gun control laws in response to the Tucson shootings is a disgrace to those who have been killed in demonstrations of mindless violence. Guns don’t kill people. Sure, that's true. But, people kill people with guns! If we make it easier for people to get guns, then we make it easier for people to kill people. For anyone who hasn’t noticed, this isn’t the Wild West. And though you may need a gun to be the bad-guy, you don’t need one to be the hero. So, why aren't we disarming the bad-guys? 

Post #29: O Romeo, Romeo...

Despite what may be implied by the title of this entry, what follows in not a reflection upon some romantic gesture made by my very own Romeo. My sweet husband would have to make a romantic gesture before I could write about it. (This is where you hear the little snare drum/cymbal combo that traditionally follows up a joke.) So, why would I tease a blog-perusing hopeless romantic with a title referencing Shakespeare’s famous love story? Because, after a weekend retreat with Kevin and my parents, I now have the answer to the ageold question of “wherefore art thou Romeo?” Romeo, my friends, is in Verona…

With the arrival of their 30^th anniversary in September, my parents decided to celebrate with a trip to Italy. I, of course, was a lead beneficiary to this decision since their January trip would bring them within hugging distance for the first time in five months. As I was planning their eight-day stay in northern Italy, I considered the option of Verona. Nestled in the Italian countryside between Milano and Venezia, the city is only a two-hour drive from the airport where I would be picking up mio genitori. And, being the city that prides itself as the setting for Shakespeare’s most famous love story, it was the perfect destination for an anniversary-celebrating couple! So that’s where we went. Me, Kevin, and my newly-arrived, as in just stepped off the plane, parents.

As I suspected, and as I had hoped for the sake of my parents who were seeing Italy for the first time, Verona had all that I love about Italian towns. The welcoming café bar owners, cute cobblestone streets, endlessly impressive churches with breathtaking interiors, high-reaching clock towers, beautiful piazzas, and charming bridges. And, to our delight, we found Verona to have even more…

For starters, Verona has a medieval castle. I’ve heard all about castles in Italy, but this is the first one I have seen in person. Built by the ruling Scaligeri family in the 14^th century, the brick Castelvecchio is accessible via it’s matching bridge over the Adige River. The building is a two-layer museum considering that it’s exterior is as much of a sight as the roomfuls of artwork housed within. With the sight of the castle itself, its views of the river, and it’s collection of renaissance art, the castle certainly proved to be a worthwhile stop in our city exploration.

So, Verona’s got the piazzas, churches, culture, and a castle. But that’s still not all… this little northeastern city also has its own Roman ruins! On the outskirts of the city, on the opposite side of the river, we excitedly sauntered through the remains of a Roman Theater from the first century B.C! The crumbled archways and moss-covered columns were an incredible sight in the foreground of the rest of the city. Behind the theater is an archaeological museum in which Roman artifacts found in Verona are on display.  As I have mentioned before, I was never a history buff. However, seeing coins, statues, and mosaics from unfathomably long ago in the city where they were excavated inspires a whole new appreciation for the subject.

In addition to the remains of the Teatro Romano, Verona is home to one of the world’s largest Roman Arenas. Built in the first century A.D, the arena is extremely well-preserved, seating upwards of 20,000 people and serving as a venue for seasonal opera and music performances. The performers don’t even need microphones thanks to the acoustics afforded by the stadium’s oval design. From the uppermost aisle of the arena, I could hear my father talking in his trademark barroom whisper down below. His quotes from the Godfather trilogy, and the notes from his whistles echoed throughout the arena. As I stood in the center of the arena, I was star-struck by history while I imagined the gladiators who once took in the same view.

In addition to its impressive collection of historically significant architecture, Verona offers supplemental charm to it’s already charming landscape by proclaiming itself the setting of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. As the supposed hometown to the pair of literature’s most famous lovers, several places within the city claim to be important to the story. The biggest draw of them all is Juliet’s house. When we found the landmark spot, we admired the countless inscriptions left by former visitors upon the brick archway. Collectively, these colorful proclamations of love looked like a work of art. Beyond the Pollock-inspired entry-way, a quaint piazza was enclosed by three buildings, the right of which was said to be la casa di Giulietta.

While I’m a sucker for romantic comedies, I’m not especially a fan of mushy, cliché, over-the-top romanticism in real-life. I can’t explain the inconsistency between my love of rom-com storylines and my indifference to contrived real-life romance. But this indifference is the reason I had no desire to take a gondola ride in Venice and why I did not care to share a kiss on Juliet’s balcony. But when in the vicinity of a Roman collosseum, do as the Romans do. And any self-respecting Italy-dweller would probably jump at the opportunity for some PDA! So, Kevin and I walked up the stairs and stepped onto the balcony overlooking a herd of tourists who were there to see Juliet’s house, rub her bronzed statued-boob for good luck, and admire the pleasant little piazza. And we kissed. Twice. The second time wasn’t out of a sudden change-of-heart to being forced into a romantic situation… my mom who was standing below just couldn’t figure out the flash on the camera.

Despite my inability to embrace my inner Shakespeare, I truly enjoyed all the Verona had to offer. With it’s assortment of landmarks from Roman, Medieval, and Renaissance time periods, and its general feel of Italian lifestyle, it was the perfect way to kick-off the week with my parental pair and to add yet another Italian city to my list of adventures.

Walking over the Adige River

Columns by the Teatro Romano

View from the Roman Theater

View from the Archaelogic Museum overlooking the theater

Piazza Delle Erbe

The entry-way to Juliet's House

Walking over to the Castelvecchio

The four of us in the Roman Arena

Post #28: Full of Bologna

One of the wives of one of the Valpe players wanted to go visit her old college roommate who happened to be visiting Italy. This college friend was visiting her medical school friend whose boyfriend lives in Milan but grew up in Modena. The Valpe wife with whom I have become friends asked if I wanted to join her on the journey to Modena where we could meet up with the crew. Since I made a vow to spontaneity this year, I graciously accepted her offer. The next morning we set out on the three hour roadtrip to Modena.

Unlike the rest of the travels I’ve partaken in this hockey season, I did not make any plans relating to this one. Usually, given my current employment status, I have happily accepted the responsibility of planning the adventures I’ve gone on in with Kevin or our guests. I have the time, and so I should dedicate my energies towards something that benefits our little family unit. This same reasoning could also apply to why I should uphold all dish-washing duties, but, for my own sanity, I cannot let it cross into that territory. My abundance of free time is erroneous in consideration of standard household chores. Being a travel planner is one thing, being a prototypical 1950’s housewife another. Anyway, like I was saying, usually before setting out on an Italian getaway whether it be for a day or for four, I have an agenda, a few bagged lunches, and I’ve got a pretty detailed map of the area etched into my mind’s eye from several hours of research about our destination. This time, my fellow Valpe wife and I had little more than a GPS navigation system set to the Modena city center and a backpack full of one to three days of clothing for our unknown escapades during the open-ended visit with her old friend. No tentative itinerary, no prerequisite Tripadvisor review reading, and not so much as a glance at my Frommer’s Italy guide book.

Despite our unpreparedness, we met up with her friend and her friend’s friend and her friend’s friend’s boyfriend without any complications. Modena is a small town (and a beautiful one!) so they were able to find our parked, decal-covered, Valpe-mobile without a problem. From that point on, we were under the guidance of the Italian boyfriend. And he turned out to be a spectacular host!

Lunch in a Modena osteria was followed up with a tour of the quaint Italian town (and hometown to the ever-so-delicious Balsamic Vinegar). Then we headed to, yes, the Ferrari Museum, which even for a non-car enthusiast proved to be a worthwhile stop. And, then, as the sun was setting, we were on our way to a little mountain village where the ever-so-gracious host was hoping to meet up with a couple of his friends at a hotel restaurant. As we followed his BMW in our recently snow-tired (thank goodness!) Ford, I marveled at the fluidity of the day’s events. Already I was thinking, I couldn’t have planned it better myself. And, we even had a free and friendly tour guide in our group!

After an hour of navigating through snowy mountainside switchbacks, we arrived at the Albergo-Ristorante. We were shown to our comfortable rooms and ushered downstairs for the entirely homemade meal. The innkeeper was the fifth generation owner of the establishment. With his mother and father still helping out in the kitchen and his own two daughters playing happily in a TV room adjacent to the dining area, at least three generations of the family were part of the operation.

Upon being seated, we were introduced to our host’s friend, the friend’s fiancé, and the friend’s father. With the exception of the father, all of the dinner guests spoke English. Our host’s friend had been visiting the little family-run restaurant since he was a child himself. He explained that we would be having a typical Italian meal in the sense of the numerous courses and a not so typical Italian meal in the sense that everything was homemade at the hotel from the ravioli shells to the sauces and the breads. The meal commenced with a delicious cheese and spinach tortellini, the pasta so soft that it nearly melted in my mouth. None of the subsequent plates lacked in the deliciousness of the first…

A meat and cheese lasagna, a ravioli soup, chicken in a rich and creamy truffle* sauce, tender flanks of steak with roasted potatoes, and an assortment of desserts. Cheese and wines throughout the feast were all local commodities, and were incorporated into the dinner sequence at appropriate times. A sweet wine to start with the pasta dishes, followed up by a richer, more “oaky” Chianti, and finished off with a selection of grappa, limoncello and other local digestivi drinks. A very sweet parmesan-like cheese that’s indigenous to the region was served in cubes at the end of the meal. Bagna e asciuga, bagna e asciuga explained the Italian-speaking father who sat to my right as he pointed from the wine to the cheese. Wet (wine) and dry (cheese). According to his son, who is also apparently a food and wine connoisseur, the cheese is provided to help finish of the wine. Ideally, you would alternate between a bite of cheese and a sip of wine and both would be gone at the same time.

Throughout the meal, I talked a lot with the host’s friend and his fiancé who are currently living in Brussels. With her being Latvian and his being Italian, English is the second language for both of them. And, as only language they have in common, it is the one they use to communicate with one another. Their English was superb, but even still, it was impressive that they maintained a relationship when they both speak outside their native tongue. I learned a lot from these conversations and was impressed by how well traveled the couple was. He had seen more of the U.S. than I have in addition to the larger portion of Europe. I am beginning to think that traveling is more of a priority for Europeans than Americans. Of course, the at least six weeks of vacation built into their work schedules versus our two might play a role in this discrepancy.

By the end of the night, all of us were pleasantly full and consequently tired. We fell asleep almost immediately upon returning to our modest yet cozy chambers.

After our breakfast the next morning, I shuddered at the thought of our checking out. The meal we had eaten the night before was of the same, if not better, quality as the 80 Euro team dinner we’d been gifted had at the beginning of the season. That, in addition to a room charge would probably wipe me out of my 110 Euro in available funds. Dining and ditching is not in my biological make-up, nor would it be possible in the company of so many new acquaintances whose connections to the hotel managers were strong. How do you say embarrassing in Italian? Thankfully, and surprisingly, the total for full board, meal and room with breakfast included, came out to only 45 Euro a person! It makes sense why Modena residents make the hour long uphill trek to eat there!  At that price and for that quality, it would be worth it for people from my neck of the woods to drive four hours there for dinner!

Relieved that I would have enough dough for another mini excursion, we all headed to Bologna. It was wonderful to spend yet another day under the guidance of someone that was familiar with the area. He offered interesting facts about the city as we walked through its streets, stopping at all important landmarks in our path. He knew where to go for window shopping and brought us to the best aperitivi spot I have been to in Italy up to this point. With a glass of wine, we were given our choice of any and all of at least ten delectable appetizers. When the sky was dark and we were ready to leave, he brought us up to a church, the road to which was lined with an illuminated covered archway. It was beautiful, and a perfect way to finish off the evening.

On our drive back to Torre, I thought about the randomness of my two days of travel in central Italy. I thought back to the dinner I shared with the friends of a boyfriend of a friend of a friend of my friend in practically the middle of nowhere in this foreign country. Then it made me wonder if it was really random at all. How the world is so intricately connected and how two people can cross paths in life in the most unexpected places through such unexpected connections. And how, when that happens, yet another life experience is logged in the diaries of my life. I can’t help but wonder, over the course of a lifetime’s worth of recorded experiences, how many people have an entry in theirs that matches one from my own? Though philosophically-oriented, that question is simply a digression of curiosity. Triggered, of course, by the fact that a spontaneous trip to the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy led to amazing food, friendly new acquaintances, and another memorable Italian adventure.

*I once considered making the trip to Alba for its annual truffle festival in the hopes of finding chocolates. Though it would have proven an educational escapade, I probably would have been disappointed to find that chocolate was not the focus of the event. And far from it. Truffles, or Tartufi, aren’t candies. Rather, they are perhaps the most sought after and expensive mushrooms in the world. The White Truffle, which is especially popular for use in high-end cuisine, grows in the Piedmonte region of Italy. And here’s an interesting fact: they use dogs to sniff out the underground fungi when it’s time for them to be harvested! And though truffles weren’t what I thought they were, I now know they are actually quite delicious in a cream sauce poured over chicken.

 

The final of three primi dishes at the albergo-ristorante

On the drive down from the albergo

Bologna

A Piazza in Bologna

Another Piazza in Bologna

The view from a hole in the wall of a Bologna street. They call it "Little Venice"; you can see why.

A fountain in Bologna

Blurry shot, but the illuminate church at the top of the hill.

Archway leading up to the church

Another shot of the archway on the way up....