Easter in Italy

It was cold and rainy when Julian showed up on my doorstep Easter morning. Well, actually, more like Easter afternoon. Julian, my landlady's Grandson, was scheduled to pick up me and Bimbi at 11:30am. When noon rolled around, I actually checked my calendar to make sure it really was Easter. At 12:30pm, Julian showed up and whisked us an entire block up the road to his parents' house. If I had known it was so close, I would have walked.

Earlier that week, Bimbi's daughter knocked on my door and handed me a letter written in English. It read, "You will join our family for Easter dinner, yes?" Surprised and honored, I accepted the invitation immediately. A few days later, she turned up again to tell me that Julian would pick me up for Easter dinner at 11:30am. Turns out dinner was in fact lunch.

Once inside, Julian, who speaks a little bit (and I do mean just a little bit) of English did the best he could to introduce me to generations of women. I think Bimbi's grandmother was there, which is particularly impressive when you consider that Bimbi is 72 years old.

I sat in the living room with the women for half an hour. The TV was blasting an Italian game show while everyone was speaking to me very slowly and very loudly in Italian. I'm not deaf, I just don't speak your language, ladies. Luckily, I've mastered the art of nodding and smiling politely despite being completely clueless as to what's going on around me.

Somehow, I managed to communicate to the ladies that I speak Spanish. (I think I must have mumbled out something like, "Capisco un poco Italiano perque parla Espanol.") Much to my delight, they introduced me to Sergio, another of Bimbi's cute grandsons, who just happens to have studied Spanish in Madrid.

After an hour of chitchat, everyone was ready to start lunch. We were ushered in to the dining room, and I was seated between Julian and Sergio, the only 2 in the lunch party of 20+ with whom I could communicate. The wine came first (and kept coming and coming until Bimbi yelled at Sergio from across the table to stop refilling my glass) followed by antipasti -- eggplant, cured meats, pickled vegetables, cheeses and bread. Then, the soup. Then, a pasta. And then, plates and plates full of meat grilled just outside of the front door in the makeshift fire pit. After a few minutes of trying to eat my meat with a fork and knife, Sergio elbowed me, held up his ribs with his hands, sunk his teeth in and smiled at me. Getting the point, I put my silverware down and joined in, picking up my ribs and digging in. When in Rome... By the time contorni (salad and spinach) came out, everyone was too full to make much of a dent. As the vegetables were being cleared, I glanced at the clock and realized we'd already been at the table for 3 hours. Over these hours, dinner conversation consisted of the group asking Sergio questions in Italian, Sergio turning to me to ask in Spanish, my answering back in Spanish and Sergio then translating back to everyone in Italian.

After a lovely fruit salad to "cleanse our palates," it was time for dessert. Excited to introduce my contribution to the meal, I pulled the tinfoil off a plate of homemade cupcakes. To be completely honest with you, my dessert didn't hold a candle to the Napoli-style flourless chocolate cake that was also served, but everyone claimed to be impressed. Sergio even ate two and his sister told me she had seen cupcakes once before, "on the Simpsons."

Basking in the rave reviews of my cupcakes, I completely lost track of time. I happened to ask Sergio, "¿Que hora es?" When he replied, "Seis menos cinco," I panicked and quickly explained that I was picking up friends from the train station at six. He assured me it was OK to take leave of the lunch after almost 5 hours at the table. I cheek kissed Italians all the way to the door, apologizing ("Permisso, me scuzzi") and thanking them profusely for having me ("Grazie mile!") I finally big everyone farewell ("Ciao, ciao, ciao. Buona Pasqua. Auguri!") and ran home.

Later that evening, as I was recounting all of the stories from my first Italian Easter lunch to my visitors, I realized just how lucky I was. Forget an authentic meal at a local agritourismo. I was welcomed in to an Italian family's most sacred holidays... This is la dolce vita.

LISBON, BOLGHERI, CERTALDO… OH, MY!

I've been spoiled with great weekends lately.

First, was an overnight layover in Lisbon on my way back to Italy from the Azores. I had the afternoon and evening to myself. After grabbing a taxi from the airport to the hotel (all while making friends with my cab driver and arraigning for him to pick me up again the next morning for my trip back out to the airport) I threw my bags in the room and took off for Castelo de Sao Jorge.

I wandered around for a few minutes until I found the correct bus line to get up to the castle. Taking buses in foreign cities terrifies me. I'm not sure why, exactly, but I always convince myself that I'm on the wrong bus. So, as I boarded bus #37 -- the one with 'Castleo' emblazoned on the front -- I asked the driver, "Vas al Castelo?" Too bad that was Spanish. And I was in Portugal. Where they speak Portuguese. All I got was a dirty look and an extended hand for the fare. I handed over 1.40-euro and crossed my fingers that I was headed in the right direction.

After a 10 minute ride, I climbed off the bus, right in front of the 11th century castle. The views were amazing. I'll let the photo do the rest of the talking...

After spending hours at the Castle, I decided to walk back down to the hotel. I stumbled across a beautiful church on the way as well as tons of shops, restaurants and the like. While marveling at all the interesting people (Lisbon is FULL of interesting people) I almost got hit by a cable car.

At 6pm, after hours of exploring, I decided to head back to the hotel room for a little rest. It was too early for dinner (the Portuguese eat even later than the Italians) but too late to tackle any other major sights. Eventually, I ventured out again to find something to eat and ended up in an Indian restaurant. That's right. Indian food in Portugal. Don't judge. As I enjoyed my curry in Portugal, that was the last thing I felt foolish about. I sat in silence and ate quickly, trying to convince myself that, 'No, people are not staring at you, Taryn.' No matter how much solo traveling I do, I'm convinced that eating alone is never going to get easier.

The next weekend of greatness found me on several adventures to new Italian cities. First stop -- the Livorno cliffs. I've heard great things about this spot for the last year but just never made it. Now that I've been, I'm sure to go back again and again. It was quiet and calm on the rocks, not to mention breathtakingly beautiful. The water was clear and blue and the sky was bright. It was a windy day and the waves were crazy as a result. I hear in the summer time that the water is a lot calmer and this is a popular swimming spot.

After marveling at the water, the group loaded up and set out for Bolgheri. Not wanting to waste any time, we parked, took a few photos and then headed straight for the Enoteca. We spent the next 2 hours sampling the famous (and delicious) Bolgheri wine and gorging ourselves on prosciutto, cheeses, bruschetta, pasta… It was all great. In particular, the bruschetta was amazing -- the tomatoes seem to be in season again. And to think, I used to hate tomatoes.

Full from lunch, we decided to walk it off in the Bolgheri country side where we stumbled across a peaceful cemetery, glowing vineyard, old rotunda and what looked like grave sites of 19th century princesses.

A little bit of shopping and then we were on our way again! Third and final stop -- Volterra. I've been to Volterra many times (see blog from summer-time last year for a funny story about my driving adventures in the walled city). Consequently, the drive was the most exciting part of this leg of the adventure. I'll never tire of gluing my nose to the car window and marveling at the beautiful, rolling Tuscan hills. On a rainy day, they're unlike anything you've ever seen… Our afternoon drive was sunny and clear. I think I've described Tuscany as 'glowing' before, so pardon the repetition, but the country side was a-glow!

The last in my trinity of wonderful weekends was spent in Certaldo with Sandra and Ale, two of my most favorite people in Italy. We went in search of a tartufo festival but instead found a sagra. I didn't know what a sagra was until Ale explained it to me and we decided to venture inside to check it out. For those of you that are curious, a sagra is a big meal, themed around a specific food. Towns will set up a temporary restaurant of sorts and set a menu around asparagus, wild board, etc. etc. In this instance, every dish included tartufo (truffle) and long tables were set up in a community room. (Ale says sagras are usually outside.) Think a big family reunion in a church fellowship hall. Needless to say, we were a little disappointed to be faced with a sagra when we were expecting a full-blown festival.

Not easily discouraged (OK, we were actually discouraged, but we decided to suck it up and press on in search of more fun) we left the sagra, full of tartufo and set out to find 'old' Certaldo. Thanks to Ale's wonderful Wikipedia research, I can tell you that Certaldo is divided into two sections -- new Certaldo, at the foot of a small mountain and old Certaldo at the top of the small mountain, reached by a funicular train.

We boarded the funicular and found ourselves in a charming Renaissance s town once at the top. Ale followed Sandra and I around -- a photographer, he kept stopping us to pose for photos and even staged a few artistic photo shoots. "Sandra, you stand on this side of the wall, and Taryn, you walk away from her on the other side and the juxtaposition…" We stumbled in to several beautiful nooks and crannies in the old city and planned our Birthday parties, wedding ceremonies, farewell dinners, wedding receptions. It was all so story-book beautiful! And we all lived happily, ever-after...