ITALY -- THE PEOPLE (FINAL CHAPTER)

Even though there are many untold stories about my adventures in Italy, I suspect that this will be my final blog. The people I chanced to meet in Italy were, by far, the best part of my trip. I will share with you a little about my “brief encounters”.

ITALY – THE PEOPLE (FINAL CHAPTER)

Francis and I stayed in a lovely apartment in Rome for five days and at La Casa del Garbo, a bed & breakfast in Florence for the remainder of our time in Italy. I am still pondering why it seems that people were friendlier in Florence than in Rome. Please don’t misunderstand me, we had a wonderful experience in Rome but the people we met in Florence were more engaging and eager to converse.

GIUSEPPE

It was on our first evening in Florence that Francis and I dined at i’Lorenzaccio’s, a ristorante next door to our bed & breakfast. We met one of the waiters, Giuseppe (a/k/a Joe), a friendly and very handsome Italian. It was on that same evening that Giuseppe was particularly helpful. The B&B office had already closed for the day and on our behalf, Giuseppe telephoned the innkeeper to report our broken toilet. From that moment on, he was our hero and friend. We enjoyed several conversations with him throughout our stay in Florence.

PAUL

On our last full day in Florence, Francis and I crossed the Arno River at the Ponte Vecchio Bridge and walked towards the Pitti Palace. We stopped for lunch at a small sidewalk ristorante, “Celestino”. As we were nearing the end of our delicious meal, a man sitting at the small table next to us, leaned toward Francis and asked, “Excuse me, but do you mind if I ask you a question? I am marveling at your accent. Are you from Texas?” First of all, we were enamored with HIS sexy, British accent (imagine Hugh Grant). Then, Francis explained to him that yes, it is a Texas accent as she had lived in Houston for 45 years. In a matter of seconds, we were engaged in a delightful conversation with Paul, a handsome Brit from Oxford, and his companion, Anita.

We exchanged names, occupations, and travel experiences. Paul was a quick wit and charmed us with flattery and jokes. Francis told him she was in need of someone to hustle her bags while traveling and he readily volunteered for the job. He told us that he and a few of his British mates had spent some time in Boston shortly after 9-11. He was impressed with the Americans’ friendliness and especially enjoyed the way in which Americans curse. I responded, “damn straight!”

Unfortunately, Paul and Anita were leaving Florence in just a couple of hours to return to Oxford. So, Francis gave Paul her e-mail address and asked him to keep in touch. Shortly, after our return to Oklahoma, Francis was delighted to receive an e-mail from our new friend and she forwarded it on to me. It meant a lot to me and Francis that Paul would take the time to correspond with us even after returning to his home and busy life.

OTHERS

There were others with whom we had a brief encounter. I fondly remember Dexter, the bartender at the Scottish pub Tartan Jack’s, Danieli Corvagio, a waiter and student of jazz guitar, Jacopo at i’Lorenzaccio’s, and Giuseppe (not the one previously mentioned) who was the cute guy with great hair who flirted with us at the leather shop. Also, there was the beautiful young woman and her male co-worker at another leather store who asked, “Are you from the South? Are you from Texas?” After going through the same explanation as with Paul, Francis confessed to her Texas drawl and I owned up to my Oklahoma “twang”. With his delicious Italian accent, the young man replied, “I think twang is cute!” Well, that just did me in right then and there. For the first time in my life, I was so proud of my Okie twang!

ARRIVEDERCI

On my last night in Italy, I stood in the center of Piazza della Signoria. I threw my arms open wide as if to embrace the moment and slowly turned in a complete circle. I savored all that I heard and saw – a flutist played haunting tunes, heavenly aromas from the ritzy Rivoire café drifted through the air, and young lovers walked hand in hand. The famous statues, Rape of the Sabines, Cosimo I, and a replica of David towered over me as I stood in the shadows of the famous Uffizi Gallery. It was a thrilling moment yet I was incredibly sad. My time in Italy was over and I desperately wanted to sear the memories of all that had happened to me into my heart forever.

I will never be the same person as I was before my trip to Italy. Enrichment, entertainment, education, expanding one’s horizons, enjoyment, and emotion – isn’t this what travel is all about?

MAY 27, 2009

ITALY -- THE PEOPLE (PART ONE)

Since my return from Italy, I have shared my thoughts about the food, culture, art, and my experiences with bad hair. However, I have saved the best for last.

ITALY: THE PEOPLE – PART ONE

I enjoyed every part of the Italian experience – the ancient history and architecture, the most fabulous cuisine in the world, the Renaissance art housed in the grandest museums in the world, the Vatican, the Pantheon, and the Colosseum. However, without a doubt, the most treasured experiences involve the people Francis and I met during our 12 days in Italy.

Traveling with Francis is amazing. She knows no stranger, she will chat with anyone, and she even has the nerve to exchange e-mail addresses. She taught me a lot about seizing the moment.

I also discovered that, when traveling, people are more open. Ideas, opinions, and even secrets are shared with ease, without fear of being judged, and without worry that friends at home will somehow find out. Travel encourages openness and honesty.

I will begin with Francesco. Aah, Francesco.

Francis and I took the 11:10 a.m. train to Siena, a small town just 35 miles south of Florence. It was one of those last minute decisions to visit Siena and I am so glad that we did. We bought our tickets, literally ran to the train, and boarded just minutes before the train pulled out of the station. I sat next to and Francis sat across from a handsome young man with a backpack in his lap. Seeing our tickets in hand, he asked us in if we had validated our tickets. Francis and I looked at each other and gasped. Knowing the stiff fine for an invalidated ticket, we became concerned. The young man told us not to worry. He took the tickets from us and wrote the time of departure on the ticket. He told us that his method of ticket validation would assure our not receiving a violation. Somehow we trusted his advice although it seemed preposterous at the time.

We thanked the young man and introduced ourselves to him. He told us his name, Francesco, and explained that he is backpacking across Europe. His home is near Guadalajara, Mexico, however, he had lived in the States several years ago. After working and saving for two years, he set off to Europe for sightseeing and adventure. He shared with us stories about his childhood and family, his girlfriends, his studies, his dreams and goals. We were quite impressed with his maturity and wisdom.

Across the aisle from us, an older couple was sitting. The man spoke to his wife in Italian and at the same moment, Francesco and I looked at each other and laughed. I said, “That man sounds just like Don Corleone in the Godfather!” He said he was thinking the very same thing. We were waiting for the old gentleman to say, “I’m gonna make him an offer he won’t refuse.” I told Francis that was going into a blog.

As the train neared Siena, we compared our travel books and determined that we would need to catch a city bus up the steep hill to Il Campo, the best square in Italy. Francesco became our tour leader and assisted us in finding the orange bus to the town center. Once we arrived at the Il Campo stop, we got off the bus together and began our tour of picturesque Sienna. Francesco suggested Osteria la Chiacchera for lunch. The travel book describes it as an “eat-it-and-beat-it, pasta-slinging place, with rickety outside tables clinging to the steep, stepped lane” and I couldn’t say it any better than that! The food was delicious and the company was divine.

After lunch we continued our tour of Siena and discovered it to be charming and absolutely breathtaking. We were mesmerized by the Duomo, fascinated with Il Campo, and found the narrow and cobbled streets charming.

Finally, Francis and I decided it was time to catch a late afternoon train back to Florence. Francesco was staying in Siena a while longer but stated that he would assist us in finding the bus stop. After walking several blocks, we located the bus stop and immediately, the bus bound for the train station pulled to the curb.

I will never forget the last time I saw Francesco. I was standing on the bottom step of the bus and the impatient driver was ready to shut the door. Quickly, Francesco stepped up and kissed me on each cheek as is the Italian custom. He said, “Arrivederci” and I responded, “Grazi. Ciao.” And, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. There were no long goodbyes, no exchanges of last names, facebook information, or e-mail addresses. He simply disappeared.

But such is the life of a traveler.

I had the privilege of meeting people who, for a brief moment in time, came into my life and made an eternal impression on my heart. I will always remember Francesco and will treasure the opportunity to spend an afternoon in his company.

And thanks to Francis, I will always remember to seize the moment for there may not be another opportunity.

May 26, 2009

ITALY -- THE HAIR

From the first day I arrived in Italy, I had out-of-control hair. Everyday was a bad hair day. I know, some of you are rolling your eyes and thinking, “She’s such a whiner, she should be thankful she has hair, she is self-absorbed . . . boo hoo hoo . . .”. I admit, I could have had worse problems but for me this was almost enough to ruin a good vacation.

In reading through my journal, I am reminded just how awful my hair behaved. Everyday I wrote about the frustration, anger, and dismay I experienced because of my hair. Let me explain.

If it wasn’t raining during our stay in Rome, the humidity was about 99%. My hair goes wild and free in the humidity. The blow dryer provided in the apartment was adequate but was not enough to tame my fuzzy mess. My flat iron, one of life’s necessities, would not work even with the converter. Too many volts were causing it to shut off after 5 seconds. This could only spell disaster for me. So, it was ponytail time.

When we arrived in Florence, I had a meltdown when the blow dryer in our room wouldn’t stay on for more than 30 seconds. I told Francis that it was imperative I get to a hair salon. No matter how shallow this sounds, I didn’t feel good about myself and I needed help immediately. I was prepared to pay big euros for a hair transformation. So, we asked for a recommendation from our hostess at the B&B and she directed us to I Rinascimenti Compagnia Della Bellezza, a salon only a short distance away.

We were greeted by a lovely lady who spoke a tiny bit of English. Through the miracle of her broken English and my hand gestures, we were able to establish my need for a wash, dry, and style. As if receiving a holy epiphany, she suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, no frizzies!” I replied with great enthusiasm, “Si, no frizzies!” She looked at the appointment book and said, “Come back. Four o’clock.”

So, promptly at four o’clock, I returned to the salon. She greeted me and introduced me to Sasha, the cute, young Italian who was to turn my frizzy mop into a sleek and stylish coiffure.

Thus began my experience with Sasha. He took me back to the shampoo bowl where he stood behind my head to wash my hair. And boy, did he wash my hair. He massaged and kneaded my head like it was a lump of bread dough. This went on for at least 15 minutes. Now, picture Meg Ryan in the restaurant scene in “When Harry Met Sally”. You remember the event she was faking and the older woman sitting nearby said, “I’ll have what she’s having.”? Well people, it was that good!

Finally, he asked me to come with him to his station. I was barely able to walk but in sheer ecstacy I did manage to stagger to his chair where he began to work his magic. He blew my hair dry, applied some expensive products, and fired up the flat iron. The entire time he was drying and styling he was talking, talking, talking. Sasha had previously lived in the States and he could speak very good English so I could keep up with him pretty well. In one breath he told me he was mourning the loss of his male lover and in the next breath he told me he was interested in finding an American wife. Needless to say, I was totally confused.

Not only that, but apparently Sasha’s brain was going faster than his tongue. He would catch his breath and then simply say, “You know, blah, blah, blah . . .”. Over and over he repeated, “You know, blah, blah, blah . . .”. I was very amused but didn’t dare laugh out loud for fear he would do something awful to my hair.

Finally, after one hour of kneading, rubbing, rinsing, drying, combing, and spraying, Sasha was finished. I couldn’t believe how awesome my hair looked. It was shiny, smooth, and well-behaved. My life was suddenly good and I was ready to explore Florence. I turned to Francis and said, “Now I feel like ME again!” “NO FRIZZIES!”

May 20, 2009

ITALY -- THE ART

Florence is intense!

In Florence, there are so many museums which contain so much art it is nearly impossible to see it all even in an entire lifetime. I was on the fast track during my week long stay in Florence and only saw a few of the highlights recommended in the travel books. My aunt Francis and I toured the Uffizi Gallery, Santa Croce Church, and Pitti Palace, to name a few.

On our last full day in Florence, we had an early morning reservation for admission to the Accademia, home of Michelangelo’s David and his powerful (and unfinished) statues entitled Prisoners. I was somewhat surprised that the building style was not the grand architecture of so many other museums and churches in Florence. However, what I was to discover inside was one of the most thrilling experiences in my life.

First, a little history about David. It took Michelangelo three years to carve the statue (1501-1504). He was only 26 years old when he was commissioned to the project. He was given a block of marble that was rejected by other sculptors because they believed it to be too tall, too shallow, and too flawed to be of any value. When completed, David stood outside for 350 years. In 1873, he was moved to a specially built indoor rotunda where he stands to this day.

Now, I will share my experience with Michelangelo’s David. When first entering the Accademia, I encountered the Prisoners and was intrigued by the mysterious figures of men who are struggling to free themselves from the slabs of marble in which they are entrapped. I was studying the pieces as they are lined up in a long hallway when suddenly I looked straight ahead and I saw him, David. My aunt told me not to look yet but I couldn’t resist. Slowly I began to walk toward the 17-foot tall figure of the young shepherd boy David as he was poised to face the enemy, Goliath. There are no words to describe the emotion I felt as I gazed upon the most beautiful piece of art I have ever seen.

At first glance and quite by surprise, my eyes began to sting as tears began to form. I was mesmerized by the details of his face, muscles, his arms and legs, every part of his body is so perfect and life like. I wanted to put my hand on his legs and feet and feel the smooth, cold marble. I wanted to touch his perfect face and hair. Of course, no one is allowed to get that close to David but many people in the rotunda were reverently whispering and most were just standing and staring in awe. I was deeply moved.

Finally, after a long while, I told Francis that I was ready to leave. We moved away from David so we could continue with our tour of the museum. But before leaving, I stopped and turned to look at David one last time. Because I may never see David again, I wanted to burn the memory of him, the moment, the experience, and the emotion into my heart and brain so that I would never forget.

My trip to Italy has changed my life forever. I have a new appreciation for Renaissance art. Could it be that Michelangelo somehow knows that over 500 years after the “birth” of David that his artistic gift absolutely rocked this Okie cowgirl’s world? I hope so!

May 18, 2009

ITALY -- THE CULTURE

In the few short days I spent in Italy, I learned a big lesson about the importance of knowing and understanding the culture and history of where one calls home.

I had an opportunity to have a nice conversation with an Italian who is near my age and who, in his youth, had traveled throughout the United States before returning to his home in Florence, Italy some twenty years ago. He was exceptionally fluent in English so we were able to have an in-depth, although brief, discussion about his life in Florence and my life in Oklahoma.

I told my new acquaintance that I work at the State Capitol Building, that I volunteer at the National Cowboy Museum, and I am involved in my sister’s business, Bonedust Cowgirl. He listened attentively then made this statement, “You are rich.”

In an instant I thought to myself, he thinks I am just a rich American. So, in response, I just shook my head and said, “No, I’m not rich.” His reply to me was, “Yes, you are very rich.” I explained that I am just a lowly government employee and again insisted that “I am not rich!”

Suddenly, my new friend bristled and with all the passion you would expect from an Italian and with hands flying in the air, he emphatically stated, “Not rich in money. Rich in culture!”

That was my ah-ha moment. I suddenly realized that he and I were talking about two completely different concepts. My idea of being rich is so closely associated to money that I could not see that he was speaking of being rich in other ways such as culture and history.

I see this as a huge difference between Americans and Italians. Of course, there are exceptions but for the most part, Americans are all about stuff. Buying stuff, storing stuff, getting rid of stuff. It’s a vicious cycle. This is what defines Americans as “rich”.

On the other hand, the Italians embrace their culture, habits, food, history, arts, instruments, tastes, and skills. To do this is what they consider as being “rich”.

Over the past several days, I’ve thought a lot about the simple lesson my Italian friend taught me. Actually, I’ve always known what is really important in life. I just needed to have a stranger on the other side of the world to remind me of it. It’s not money – it is culture!

ITALY -- THE FOOD

I’ve been an on an emotional roller coaster since my recent return from my first trip to beautiful Italy. In one moment, I am sad because I miss Italy and in the next moment, I am all smiles as I recall a pleasant memory.

For someone who never traveled beyond the North American continent, I was not prepared for jet lag, culture shock, drastic time changes, and many other challenges that come with travel. But I quickly adapted and embraced the many differences between America and Italy. To sum up my experiences in a few short paragraphs is absolutely impossible so as special memories of my trip come to mind, I will share them in my blogs.

The Food. Volumes have been written about Italian food. I can’t add anything new and clever to what has already been discussed by greater minds and better cooks than me. The difference between Americans and the Italians is that in Italy, dining is an experience to be savored and enjoyed. In America, it’s fast and fattening. In Italy, there is no rush to eat your meal and the food tastes healthy and pure.

In a ristorante or trattoria, the meal begins with pane (bread) dipped in EVOO (olive oil). Of course, rosso or bianco vino is served and water is ordered “gas or no gas” meaning carbonated or non-carbonated. Then, appetizers, primo piatto or first course (pasta, soup), secondo piatto or second course (meat, fish), insalata (salad), and dolci (dessert) all follow. There is plenty of time to relax and enjoy the flavors of the food and leisurely conversations. Most noticeably, loud music is not blaring in the background. The waiter will not bring the il conto (check) until the customer asks for it and tips are not expected.

I tried several new dishes including deep fried artichoke, a special dessert from Napoli called Baba (cake swimming in rum), pizza unlike anything in the U.S., caprese salad, pecorino cheese, and gelato. I also discovered a delicious drink, Limoncello, which contains 100 proof Vodka. Needless to say, it has some kick to it!

I learned a lot from the Italians about really appreciating the taste of fresh herbs and vegetables, pasta, and wine. A white tablecloth and cheery cloth napkins, a votive candle, and a flower in a small vase make all the difference in the dining experience.

So, in the future, I will reduce the time I cook pasta so that it is firm and not mushy, use less sauce and more olive oil with seasonings, open a bottle of wine for ordinary rather than just special occasions, and use cloth napkins instead of paper. These little touches will forever remind me of the romance and charm of Italy. Delizioso!

May 14, 2009