Tag Archives: europe

Travel highlight: Civita di Bagnoregio, Lazio

Travel highlight: Civita di Bagnoregio, Lazio

This little jewel of a town is the stuff Italian dreams are made of.  It’s a cross between walking into a time machine and stepping onto a set of the most picturesque Italian scene you could ever imagine – except it’s no facade and certainly not Disneyland; it’s real, and absolutely gorgeous.

Located about 90km Northwest of Rome, in the province of Viterbo, it’s one of the best discoveries we’ve made so close to home and reminds us of how important it is to explore this area.

Appearing to be suspended in the middle of a valley, the town is only accessible on foot, or by motorino.  It takes about 20-30 minutes and it’s all uphill, but well worth the trek.  It was founded by the Etruscans twenty-five hundred years ago, and it’s population is currently all of fifteen residents.

In ancient times it was called Novempagi and Balneum Regium, before becoming known as Bagnorea in medieval times.  It was taken several times by barbarians between the sixth and ninth centuries, and was once a Papal State.  It’s also famous for being the birthplace of the philosopher St. Bonaventure in the 13th century.

Enjoy a glimpse of our visit a few months ago.

(Source: http://player.vimeo.com/)

Love Letter to my Nonna

Posted in Culture by

Written a week before her passing…

Not many people have a best friend who’s sixty years older than they are.  I do – but devastatingly, her health has taken a turn for the worst and she’s about to leave us.

It’s certainly not to be taken for granted that she’s blessed to have lived almost ninety-three years, but to me, she’s my Noni Netta, and she will forever be ageless.  She’s the backbone of our family, and has been a constant in my life I honestly can’t imagine being without.

The thought of this happening during a rare moment when I’m not able to travel is disappointing and extremely upsetting.  I want to be there, holding her hand as she did mine whenever I was scared, or unwell.  The only solace I have is the certainty that I couldn’t have been any closer to her than I have been throughout my life.  I know she can feel me there with her.  Our relationship has been incredibly special and I believe it transcends any limitations of space and time.

At this point, Alzheimer’s has cheated her out of all the magnificent memories of an incredibly full lifetime.  She’s frail and has stopped eating.  She doesn’t remember being abnormally healthy her entire life.  She doesn’t remember the exceptional ability to cook and the amazing appetite she had until a short time ago.  She doesn’t remember never resting until every guest was stuffed and had been offered every possible form of food available in the house.

She has forgotten that I’m married, pregnant, and living in Rome.  But I’ll never forget some years ago, when my husband and I were courting each other from across the world and the distance was taking its toll on our relationship, she comforted me and offered to buy me an emergency ticket to Rome to come see him.  What was important to us was always important to her, and our happiness was her priority.

She doesn’t realize that she and her broken Italian accent taught me what true culture was all about; that there was an entire world outside of my small town to discover.  She held her native country close to her heart all these years, and in doing so contributed to an upbringing unique to that of so many around us.

She inadvertently infused in me a passion and respect for our heritage and tradition so great that it has changed the course of my own life.  By directly experiencing her country and way of life, I’ve felt closer to her than ever before.  Her culture has enriched me and continues to do so every day.  And now I have a husband with the same adorable accent, and I love hearing it.

She doesn’t know she was the quintessential definition of strength: one of the first women in a small Italian town to ever give birth via c-section; taking shelter in caves while bombs dropped down from above during WWII; having the courage to leave her war-torn home and embark on a new life in a foreign country, never to see her own parents again; feeling completely lost and out of place and stuck in what she referred to as “Siberia”; learning a new language with only the help of the newspaper and television; creating a respected reputation and a beautiful home in a community far from her own reality; then, much later, carrying on for the sake of her family after losing the love of her life.

She doesn’t remember all the wonderful years of memories we created together at 931 Myrtle Ave: all the times we laughed, sang, and danced around the living room to “Peppino the Italian Mouse” on repeat on the turn-style; the hidden jar of biscotti that was never hard to find; the incredible smells coming from the basement filled with fresh pasta, salami hanging from the ceiling, and barrels of Papa’s best dago red.  When I think of my happy place, to this day, it’s Christmas Eve at Noni and Papa’s house, or any other after-school visit, for that matter.

She’s forgotten how obsessed she was with cleanliness, following us around with a moppina attached to her hand,making any mess disappear in seconds while never getting in our way of having fun.  She would eat over the sink to catch runaway crumbs, sleep on a tiny pillow (which she made herself) so her hair wouldn’t get messed up, and would never leave the house without a layer of Oil of Olay and some makeup on.  She was an expert at taking care of herself and others.

She doesn’t recall reading every health-related book she could get her hands on, mastering symptoms and illnesses all in a second language, and with a 5th grade education.  She had a sharper mind and keener intuition than so many well-educated people I know.

She’s forgotten how she’d repeatedly make the sign of the cross every time a thunderstorm would roll in – or how she prayed incessantly for our well-being at all times, rosary after rosary, blessing after blessing.  Her faith has been an unwavering constant her entire life, despite so many obstacles and strife.

She’s no longer able to repeat all the hilarious sayings and quotes that have become scripted staples to us over the years, and will undoubtedly keep us laughing for many more to come.  All the stories we shared, plans we discussed, and great advice she always gave…  I could talk to her about anything, and she always had a wise, pertinent, and optimistic viewpoint.

She has no idea how popular she was with everyone she met.  All of our friends loved Noni Netta.  Everyone recognized her kind, gentile spirit, sweet disposition, and the light of goodness that surrounded her.  Her calming presence has meant so much to our family in the past, once struggling with serious illness and the simultaneous loss of its most beloved members.  Little does she know that – even as an adult – her smile, warm embrace, and the smell of her skin could always set my world right.

All of this, and so much more, she no longer remembers – but we can certainly never forget.  We will remember it all for her.  What she has built will last in eternity because she is the foundation of who we are, and who we want our children to become.

The only real peace I’ve found in these difficult days has been when I sit and listen to our son kicking around in my belly, and imagine how well he will know her through me.  As I prepare to raise him, she will be there in my words and my actions, as there could be no better mother to emulate.  She is my definition of honor, integrity, strength, and love.

Now, as she struggles with her last breaths, I continue to reflect on how a life, just one life, can have such an incredible effect on the development of each of us.  Any success we have is owed partially to her, for the bold choices she’s made for our well-being, and the unconditional support and abundant self-sacrificing love she’s always given us.  Her idea of a punishment was always, “I kissa you two time”; I never needed to learn how to love or be affectionate because people like her showed me what it meant from the beginning…

We’ve been blessed by her presence for so long, and we’ve needed her.  But her destiny will soon be calling – and as she would say: “se è destino non manca.”  It was her destiny to be our Nonna, and very soon, it will be our destiny to miss her terribly.

Ti voglio un bene immenso,

Andrea

 

Falling in Love, Neopolitan Style

Falling in Love, Neopolitan Style

It’s hard not to fall in love with the Amalfi Coast.  I remember the first time I was there: I was fourteen years old and completely overwhelmed by the beauty around me.  Each incredible vista gave me feelings and ideas I’d never had before – and it was then I knew Italy would be a part of my permanent future, in some way. I was immediately addicted to that sensation.

These days, every time I visit another new, beautiful place in Italy I always have the urge to say it’s my favorite place of all, until I go back to the Amalfi Coast and remember that it can’t be beat – not by Lake Como, not by Taormina or the Cinque Terre, not even perhaps by Sardegna (which are all my votes for the most beautiful places overall in Italy).

Why the Amalfi Coast can’t be beat is a simple question of location, as far as I’m concerned: it happens to be right next to Naples, which automatically makes it more dramatic, passionate, and over the top. It’s the land of mandolins, romance, old-world culture, and traditional Italian slow food (before anyone even knew what “slow food” was). Naples has its problems, and perhaps the proximity to the urban grime of Italy’s “bad boy” city is precisely what gives the Costiera its literal diamond in the rough mystique.  

Aside from its obvious natural beauty, the people who inhabit the Costiera are living characters. They share the same exaggerated, gregarious personalities and dialect as their famous Neopolitan neighbors. The food is ridiculous, the atmosphere is total relaxed sophistication, and the scent of lemon trees and fresh sea air are utterly intoxicating. All of this, combined with the staggering backdrop of rocky bluffs plunging into the sea creates a drama and stunning grandeur beyond compare. All in all, it’s much more worth experiencing than talking about.

So, Amalfi Coast, I may cheat on you every now and then – but you’ll always be my first true love.

*Click on the photos to enlarge – enjoy.

Real-life Scam City

Posted in Culture, Featured, Uncategorized by

No, I’m not just trying to make a shameless plug for our new National Geographic Channel series, “Scam City,” soon premiering globally (there, that was a shameless plug).  I actually want to tell a real-life tale of what happens when my husband and father are together for too long: something my mother and I like to refer to as, “The Adventures of Tommy and Gimmi.”

Over the years, my father has developed a solid bromance with my husband, as well as a semi-unhealthy obsession with the fact that he has a certain position in Italy that makes anyone who may have something to hide immediately squirm.  This has become a somewhat dangerous situation while my parents are visiting us in Rome.  Tommy has become quite accustomed to preferred treatment such as the occasional discount, free tickets, and well, the general respect that comes with my husband’s title – so much so, that he now seems to be on a one-man vigilante mission to correct all the wrong-doings he encounters in this city.  Of course, he only attempts these antics when his cohort is close by for moral support; otherwise, he would likely risk being picchiato (beat down) Italian-style, and he knows it.

This is dangerous for my husband because he really doesn’t identify himself much with his position, since his daily work is in a specialist health clinic.  He is a high-ranking member of the Carabinieri (Italian military police), but he’s never actually worked on the street fighting crime or restoring order.  Therefore, he tends to keep a low profile and play that card only when absolutely necessary.

Tommy, on the other hand, will mention it in any and all situations, and with a very bad Italian accent, causing a certain reaction of disbelief/amazement/confusion in anyone he encounters.  Want to get to the front of the ticket line at the Forum?  ”My son is a Mariscial!” he’ll proudly state, waiting to be escorted to the front.  The person will then look at my husband, who at that point slinking back in embarrassment, is forced to own up and try to diffuse the situation with humor and charm, as only he knows how.  

But there’s never been a scene like the one they put on this weekend: Tommy had been venturing off into the city on his own during the day, when my mom didn’t feel like putting up with the oppressive heat.  On Thursday, he found himself at a bar for breakfast directly in front of the Colosseum, just past the exit of the metro.  Using the most decent Italian he could muster, he ordered a cornetto and cappuccino.  Only problem was they charged him €5.00, when it really should have only cost €1.80.  Not having been his first breakfast standing in an Italian bar, he knew the price was excessive – especially since the man in front of him had ordered the same thing and paid €1.80.

Tommy left the bar and immediately called Gimmi, who of course quickly realized the cashier had taken him for a ride.  Yes, Tommy had just become Rome’s most recent victim of tourist price gouging.  That essentially means once you open your mouth and it’s obvious you’re a tourist, you risk paying double or triple the price at some places.  That’s discrimination, and Gimmi and Tommy weren’t going to stand for it.  Besides, Tommy’s no tourist at this point; he spends six weeks a year here and has an Italian passport, for God’s sake!

So, they scheme up a plan to return to the same bar on Saturday morning, but this time, together.  Tommy walks in and nonchalantly orders the usual cornetto and cappuccino, with Gimmi a few places back in line.  This time, for some reason, the cashier has some mercy on him and charges €3.50.  Gimmi follows with the exact same order, pays €1.80, then proceeds to the counter and asks the waitress (actually, demands) to see Tommy’s receipt, which she had just collected.  

At first, she gives him attitude and refuses.  Then, given Gimmi’s clearly authoritative tone, she complies (this is before he has identified himself in any way).  She fumbles through the trash can, creating confusion and claiming to have lost the receipt.  Gimmi tells her if she can’t find it he’ll be happy to come behind the counter and find it for her.  She finally locates it, and he asks to speak to the owner immediately.  Meanwhile, Tommy’s sipping his cappuccino and enjoying the scene with a smirk, understanding only about 10% of what is actually being said.

Out from the back of the bar apparently steps the tallest Italian on record, scowling and impatiently asking what the problem is.  The problem, Gimmi explains, is that his bar is charging different prices for the same orders.  ”That’s not true,” the owner responds, “we have a discount for Italians.”  ”Oh, really?” responds my husband.  ”Quit with the stronzate (bullshit), or I’ll have this place closed down in an hour.  You’re speaking to a Maresciallo of the Carabinieri.”  Those magic words are truly the only thing that will strike fear in the heart of any swindling Italian from Milan to Palermo.  And now was a great time to pull them out of the arsenal.  

The bar turns silent, and the owner’s demeanor changes from bullying mafioso to profusely apologetic quicker than milk turns to froth.  Then Gimmi says, “You will now give my father-in-law the €1.70 you owe him for this morning’s breakfast.  And keep your eyes open, because you’re under surveillance from this moment on.” 

And just like that, Gimmi the “Conquistador” (as Tommy calls him), and his trusty sidekick, “Sancho Panza” (as I’m calling Tommy and he’ll hate me for) ride off into the sunset together, continuing their crusade to fight injustice – one steaming hot cornetto and cappuccino at a time.

Eataly: Italian Megastore

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Eataly has arrived in Roma, so of course, we had to go see what all the hype was about (along with the rest of the city).  Firstly, the place is enormous – it occupies an old railway station and has been restructured impeccably, turning what was once an eyesore into a glorious rebirth of the Ostiense neighborhood.

The idea is genius: bring together all the most prestigious local products from each region of Italy – which you normally would have to travel to find – and create one amazing Italian megastore.  That incredible dessert you had in Positano?  The homemade pasta in Puglia?  You’ll find it here.  It’s a fantastic opportunity to have access to some of the world’s most cherished alimentary items. 

Each (very long) level is divided by delicacy: there’s the gelato section, the piadina section, the olive oil section, the meat section, the fish section, and much more.  In each respective area, there’s a corresponding restaurant where you can have a bite to eat.  So, while shopping for the perfect fiorentina steak, you can also sit and enjoy one.

The only negative aspect was, as with any novelty in Rome, the place was absolutely packed.  So much so, it was hard to understand what to do and where to look, let alone attempt to actually eat something.  It was 10pm, and every single restaurant was still full, with groups of people hovering around waiting.  There were signs explaining how getting a table worked, and instruction number one – “Find an open table” – made me laugh out loud.  In Italy, no reservations/number system equals pure chaos, so needless to say, we didn’t stick around to find out what happened when someone finally did get up.  It’s quite frustrating being surrounded by all that wonderful food, and not being able to eat anything.  We’ll have to go back when things calm down in a few months.

It’s truly a fantastic initiative, and is slowly expanding around the world.  In the US, aside from the New York City location opened about a year ago, stores will soon be inaugurated in Chicago and Los Angeles as well.  

On the website, Eataly also outlines its lofty aspirations to use business as a catalyst for the rebirth of a struggling nation:

Sì, ci crediamo! Siamo convinti che la belleza salverà l’Italia. E’ per questo che Eataly Roma è dedicato alla bellezza. La bellezza dell’agroalimentare, la bellezza dell’arte, la bellezza della musica e la bellezza dell’ironia.  E poi ancora… la moda, il design, l’industria manifatturiera di precisione, il turismo. 

Yes, we believe it! We’re convinced that beauty will save Italy. It’s for this reason that Eataly Rome is dedicated to beauty.  The beauty of agriculture, the beauty of art, the beauty of music and irony.  And thensome… fashion, design, the manufacturing of precision, and tourism.