October 2012 - See You in Italy

Live. And Learn.

To have an Italian friend is to be constantly in debt to them. You can but live and learn. And maybe–if you are good, very good in this life – you may get to come back. As an Italian.

PANICALE, PADOVA, TORINO, Italy–If we live to be a hundred, we will never get to the point on the Generosity Chart where Italians seem to be born. Like a Ferrari, the average Italian has some extra gears they can shift into, at a moment’s notice. They make it look so easy and effortless,

A couple examples. We were in Padova, years ago, at our Italian foreign exchange student’s home for the first time. We were seeing the house and doing the polite, “What a lovely home. Love that painting! Gorgeous flowers here on the balcony . . .” Which was all fine, until we got ready to leave and they had elaborately wrapped gifts for all of us. And after those individual be-ribboned and bowed packages had all been opened, there was one more. A bonus round “for the family.” It was the framed oil painting we’d admired on the wall. You have to be careful out there, admiring things.

And food. Be careful there too. That tide may only flow one direction. We were almost coaxed into a food coma at our friends in Torino’s home. They fed us like Christmas geese. “This is wonderful, but three helpings is fine, please, thank you” didn’t seem to work. And so we were lovely and polite, and kept on eating our way through the food pyramids in front of us.

Later that vacation we invited them to a similar feast in their honor at a place we were renting near Sarzana. They looked at the food we put in front of them, and looked at us like we were a tiny bit deranged. “What is all this food they asked?” They ate a bit of this and a bit of that. You know, normal people portions.

So, if you think you can “get even” or return the favor, that would be a rookie move. Here in the states we hear people say “Oh, we owe so and so a dinner. They had us over and we need to pay them back.” This is patently impossible in Italy. Repeat after me: You can not out-gift or out-feed Italians.

We ate so much marvelous food on our most recent trip. But I’m quite sure my favorite was Lunch at Bruno’s Mom’s. She’s ninety, her garden is vast, and lunch was equally so and fit for a king. The home-made tagliatelle was the best ever. I told her so and she waved me off. This? I just tossed this together” They double-teamed me. They had me at the end of the table, between them. When I looked to my left at mom while we talked, Bruno on my right, would fill one of my glasses, with the more of the fine red wine he made from her grapes. If I looked back his way, mom would upend a serving dish of pasta or salad on my still-full plate.

And even though we were all going to a town-wide Festa Dell’uva dinner that night together, Bruno and I still got a to-go box. The grapes are mom’s, as are the tomatoes. The melon? Bruno and I liberated it from a field outside Paciano that had been mechanically harvested. They missed a couple. We didn’t.

Moral of the story: When you are up against the kindest, most generous people on the planet, you cannot compete. To have an Italian friend is to be constantly in debt to them. You can but live and learn. And maybe–if you are good, very good in this life – you may get to come back. As an Italian.

See you in the next life,

Stew Vreeland

The new French Twizy vs the classic Italian Ape.A couple of European flyweights go head to head.

Renault Twizy or Piaggio Ape? In an Piaggio Ape, you can bring both your friend AND the groceries home from the CO-OP.

twizyape. renault twizy and piaggio ape, french vs italian mini vehicles CASTIGLIONE DEL LAGO, Umbria, Italy–Can you really compare these two Lilliputt-putts? Well, no. On the one hand, yes, they can both haul you and your best friend to and from the market, albeit in close quarters. But in an Piaggio Ape, you can bring both your friend AND the groceries home from the CO-OP. With the Renault Twizy, it looks like you have to pick and chose between bringing the friend or the groceries home. So, how hungry are you? The price the dealer told me made me instantly realize I wasn’t going to be able to take it out of petty cash. But I think I remember the deluxe model was like 8,000 euros.

In its defense, the Twizy is full-on electric. But, it is licensed as a four-wheeled motorcycle, with a steering wheel. Five wheels is a lot of wheels. For a bike. Meanwhile our 1983 Piaggio Ape, with only three total wheels (not even a single steering wheel) has an 1,100 lb payload. Plus, room for you and your momma. We bought our ape from Ken Johnson in Ontario. He is the only dealer/renovator we know of. If you go to his site you can see a few of the Apes he has put on the streets recently.

So, what’ll it be, big spender? A shiny new Twizy or an proven-in-the-trenches Ape? They are both cunning European designs. The Twizy is way out of the box, way ahead of the curve, the Ape has been an established mode of transportation around the globe for decades. I don’t know if you can even get a Twizy in the states. When I saw one on a Renault lot last month in Castiglione del Lago (Umbria) I kept thinking I was seeing a prototype, a futuristic, car-of-tomorrow sketch, magically come to life.

They both are taking wildly different, outside-the-box approaches to space, travel and energy use. Noble efforts.

Plus, come on. Are they are wicked cute?

See you in Italy,

Stew Vreeland

Man about town. A brush with passion.

PANICALE, Umbria–To say Bruce likes to paint while he’s in Italy, is like saying The Pope has a bit of a religious background. Bruce has stayed at our place in Panicale before and I’ve always admired his painting of Panicale. But, I’ve never been there when he was there. It was fun to catch him in action. And easy, too. Here’s why: Panicale is small. And he’s out on the street, in one spot, painting until he’s satisfied he’s got it right. And that was true every day unless it was pouring buckets. And we knew when night had fallen, because he would actually come home then.
manabouttown Bruce Kidman painting up a storm in Panicale, Umbria, Italy
But lunch? Not so much. We’d be eating something fun, basking in the lunch-time, garden sun, plucking a fresh fig off the tree to nibble on while reflecting on the flowers close at hand or the lake in the distance, when I’d realize Bruce was MIA. “No problem” Kiki would say, with a dismissive wave of her hand “he’s painting.” She was right, he could not be lured away from his art. It didn’t matter if he was a few houses away, or on the other side of town, he made it clear, he’d much rather paint than eat. He’d pull a candy bar out of his pocket and keep on painting up a storm.

I so admire the passion. And the paintings that are the tangible results of that persistent passion. Complimenti, Bruce, complimenti, pure.

See you in Italy,

Stew Vreeland

Italian funk, American Country Music and the Queen Mother of all Apes

PANICALE, Umbria, Italy–That’s right. You got it on your first guess. It was Festa dell’uva time in Panicale again. Always exuberant, always eccentric, often unpredictable, but always fun. This year, the parade was short and not nearly as many floats as usual. But the music venues and the wine tasting booths were many and all killer-good.

SIDE NOTE: I don’t care what anyone says to the contrary. . bottlers put some dang thing in wine before it hits my glass here in the states. All I have to do here is stick my nose in a wine glass and I’m growing a headache. In Italy, I do everything but brush my teeth with it. And wake up smiling and ready to try it again. Just another in a long line of my excuses to go to Italy.

All over town were wooden arrows pointing you to the next pop-up wine tasting venue. Ten of them. (That is our rascal restaurant friend Andrea Belfico of Masolino’s freelancing an 11.) I tried each night to pick up, numerically, where I’d left off the night before and just do them in some sort of order. And every night I would fail terribly, distracted from that quest after a couple tastings by a whole host of other shiny objects. Usually food-oriented. With big side orders of MUSIC!
pfunkfest. p-funking, masolinos, ape Calessino, vespa, Wine festival, panicale, umbria, italy in September This year they really pulled out all the stops on the music. P-funking. Remember that name. See them if you get a chance. Type that name in on YouTube and stand back. Everybody loves them. The town was abuzz about them for days. Serious crowd-pleasers in the parade and in the piazza afterwards. Link above is P-Funking playing in Panicale, Italy. And that was just a part of the music available in the afternoon.

At night the big band era sound was in play one night and almost, what disco, maybe another night? All the music groups had hundreds of people of all ages dancing till midnight both nights after the town-wide “cena sociale.” Meanwhile at the other end of town, in the Kids’ Area (college age people, plus or minus) there was rock one night till two in the morning and then country from a whole other country: Italy. Wild and talented bunch of fringed-leather-jacketed, stetson-wearing cowboys. From Gubbio, Italy. Great trio of musicians. They could hit a lick. You could take them and their guitars and banjos to Nashville or Amarillo and do fine. Except for the they-don’t-speak-a-word-of-English thing. Which they told me in Italian. Even though they
ONLY sing American Country songs. In perfect American English! Watching people learn to line dance on a summer night under the spot-lit tower of the Countessa’s Palazzo was one of my trip’s memorable moments. I don’t know. Just stuck with me and made me smile.

And then. Speaking of smiling! And then. . . there it was. The Ruler of The Planet of the Apes. The mother, as it were . . . . of all Apes. The Ape Calessino. The folding top, four-passenger Ape. By Piaggio. They are brand new, but look 60’s retro and really hit the mark. I’ve read about them, seen them in fancy house / spa magazines, articles. But never. Until now. And they claim they would even let me rent one. From the slightly oddly named Umbria in Vespa. Everyone said the company was started by a nice English lady but the “in” in their name doesn’t seem to quite make sense in English. I know, I know, it makes some sense in Italian, but still. Sure, but I’m thinking there is a dual-language answer. Anyway, those are really show stoppers and I can’t believe you can actually rent them. I don’t think I would rent one of these to me. And I have hours and hours behind the “tiller” of an Ape. Just saying. Glad they do, I want to say I’ve done it.

Apes aside, as usual, the festa was a hit. I didn’t get to sleep till two or three in the morning Wed to Sunday if I recall and I don’t, it went by in a blur. And every morning after, I was right back at the gardening. No rest for the wicked / Having fun as fast as we could. Both policies in effect.

The weather was grand. A good time was had by all. Check your calendar for next September!
(Always the weekend of the third Sunday in September.)
See you in Italy,

Stew Vreeland

The Paper Chase: Italian Style.

UMBRIA, Italy–It is a cultural thing. Italy is famous for its paperwork and bureaucracy. Just part of its elusive charm. How to get thru the system. Like when you’ve finally gotten comfortable being able to get a cup of coffee at an Autogrill. It just seems so counter-intuitive to go look at the treats on offer and not be able to buy them, then and there. But eventually, memorizing the long name of a sandwich and then going to the Cassa and saying the name out-loud and paying for it and taking the scrap of paper they hand you Back to the sandwich guy, makes a tiny bit of sense. Well. If you are hungry enough. But at the end of the day we just enjoy the difference and say “Quando a Roma.”

So that is on the one hand. On the other end of the scale: imagine what happens when you buy a house. After you’ve worked your way thru the system and delivered all your paperwork, proved who you are, your income, passports, etc and handed over the price of a house . . . you get . . . nothing. At all.

Gulp. What the heck? Way back when we bought, Italy still ran on lira and we paid in cash. Which because of banking hours versus closing ceremony time, meant we hung out all day in Perugia, shopping, eating out etc while carrying a paper shopping bag. With about twenty pounds of lira in it. We got to the notaio’s office, signed things like crazy, certified, attested, when necessary. And at a certain point, the notaio looked at me and smiled politely. And I’m like “what?” Our Swedish friend who had introduced us to the notaio, nudged me and said “He’s ready for the money.” I’d left it under the chair in the waiting room.

I ran out and got it. Passed it to the notaio. He took it and passed it on to the sellers, stamped a couple more things for good measure. And stood up and shook our hands. And gave us that “We’re done here, thank you” look. Receipt please? No. Xerox of some of that stuff we just signed? No. Really? Really.

Eventually, something gets sent from his office to the appropriate government office and everyone agrees you own a bit of the peninsula. But that’s it. Little purchase, paperwork. Biggest purchase you can make, zero.

So, now you now. And you don’t have to be as surprised as we were.

OK, Ciao4now,

See you in Italy,

Stew Vreeland