Italy in the media Archives - Page 5 of 6

Iowa, Florence, Torino. Slightly ahead of the travel loop on this one?

Swell article called Master Class, about a program for adults that want to get intouch with their inter Renaissance Person, artistically speaking. Sounded like so much fun. I could about half see myself running away from the circus and doing something like that.

I know, I know. Many of you were probably laughing haha at my westwardho adventures. Because going west to the Great Plains means I’m obviously not going East to Umbria. Up to where you saw the part about being backstage with the Rolling Stones and Mom’s Apple Rubarb Pie. But we did something else we often do there. Natural as falling out of bed. We got burgers at Taylor’s Maid Rite in Marshalltown. What? You haven’t BEEN to Taylor’s? Nor Marshalltown?

Don’t tell that to the editors of Travel+Leisure. The latest issue (Travel+Leisure March 06) just came in yesterday’s mail. And what to my wondering eyes did appear, but two, full-page photos of Taylor’s Maid Rite, in glorious color. I did not know we were being trendy to go there. We usually just go when we are hungry.

The article describes Taylor’s with this superlative: ”Taylor’s could be the oddest restaurant in the State. Perhaps the Nation.” Ok. Been there. Done that. Got the Tcup, as you can see. (the other side of it says ”. . . but come back again”) The article went on to say ”Their signature dish, loose meat on a white bun — resembles something created in a VA hospital during a catastrophic budget crunch”. Well. Maybe to someone non Native, like the author. He should be so lucky as to be on the receiving end of the income stream the place has been generating for the Taylor family since 1928. Must be doing something Rite.

But lets talk ambience. Old National Geographic maps on the wall that have been there at least since the 1960s. A single U-shaped, Formica-topped counter, the pattern almost worn off. Plus some close packed chrome and red vinyl stools. Normally a bottom planted firmly on every stool. iIts not unusual, or even noteworthy, to have one, two or three people standing behind each stool. The standees are standing, waiting for the sitters to eat up, get up and get out, already. This is, of course, the opposite of Italy’s laudable Slow Food concept. This is efficiency taken to almost dizzyingly poetic heights. There is not even a menu. The name Maid Rite (the name of the burger) says it all. Want a Maid Rite or not? If you do, sit down. If you don’t, keep moving. No swishy fruit salads or omnipresent French/Freedom Fries, or anything really to distract you from the business at hand. There are Maid Rites, a limited selection of drinks, and pie. Homemade, each and every slice. When I was in there last week it looked like you could have any kind you wanted. As long as it was peach. Decision, decision. Oh, and the efficiency of limited selection extends to your choice of condiments. Mustard. Onion, Pickle. Period. You weren’t really thinking about asking for Ketchup, were you? You’ll never pass for a native that way!

FLORENCE/FIRENZE—Rubbing elbows with Marshalltown and trying to horn in on its cachet in this great issue of Travel+Leisure was that quintessential Tuscan town of Florence/Firenze. Swell article called Master Class, about a program for adults that want to get intouch with their inter Renaissance Person, artistically speaking. Sounded like so much fun. I could about half see myself running away from the circus and doing something like that.

TORINO—And further speaking of Italy. How ’bout those Olympics? Will someone please make the announcers quit saying ”Tur-rin”. It just sounds like something bad. Some of the poor things act all offended. As if the town made up the name Torino just to be cute and/or to mess with them. And that is from people reporting ”live” from Torino where they can see signs and maps and everything. Sigh.

Our dear friend Roberta (one of our Italian daughters) lives in Torino. We love her, we love Torino, been there many times over the years. We even got to see the Shroud of Turin with her. And because of her. It is only out once every 25 years or so, and then only for a few days. Roberta is in tourism and she made sure we went way to the head of the line and then right up to say hi to the Shroud itself. Coming through! But for the Olympics, I opened up a big case of the claustrophobias and in the end talked myself out of going. And I LIKE winter sports. I’ve had a downhill ski racing team for several years, and STILL didn’t sign up for this mega event. After reading Roberta’s note, I was sorry I didn’t go for it. Here is her report straight from downtown Torino, by a lifelong native:

Ciao Stew,
Qui tutto bene, Torino é bellissima piena di vita e di
allegria. Questa sera andrò a vedere una partita di Hockey femminile
Finlandia contro USA, ovviamente farò il tifo per gli USA. É un
peccato che tu non possa essere qui a goderti questo bellissimo
spettacolo, Torino é rinata, tutto é perfetto e poi ci sono tanti
turisti da tutti i Paesi del mondo che portano tanto colore e allegria.

She says: Dear Stew, Everything here is fine, Torino is just beautiful, so full of life and happiness. This evening I am going to the girl’s hockey game, the one between USA and Finland. Obviously I will be rooting for the USA. It is a shame that you are not here to enjoy this beautiful event. Torino is reborn, everything is perfect and there are so many tourists here from everyplace in the world, bringing with them so much color and happiness.

Regrets. I’ve had a few. But then again.

Italy: The Ultimate Shiny Object?

I think, like everyone, I assumed I was the only one shrewd enough to fully appreciate Italy for what it is really worth. But, if you look around at the crowds trying to get in the Uffizi or book a room in Venice during Carnevale you realize, it is a secret we share with a whole lot of other wide eyed tourists.

Yes, I know. I may be preaching to the choir here.

Columbus discovered America. But, I ask you, doesn’t every American feel they have ”discovered” Italy from the moment they first wash up on her sunny shores? Of course, I’m being egocentric when I single out Americans. And, of course, I mean to include all us foreigner invaders from the Goths and Vandals right on down to whatever Ryan Air discount flight just landed this morning in Pisa. Italy seems to whisper its siren song in everyone’s ear. For me, it seemed like a personal revelation. The skies parted, the message was written there clear as a bell: Look at the art, taste that food, listen to the people talk, I have found the Promised Land. I think, like everyone, I assumed I was the only one shrewd enough to fully appreciate Italy for what it is really worth. But, if you look around at the crowds trying to get in the Uffizi or book a room in Venice during Carnevale you realize, it is a secret we share with a whole lot of other wide eyed tourists.

Yes, I know. I may be preaching to the choir here.

I read somewhere a scientific explanation for part of Italy’s eternal charm and magnetism. The light really IS different in Italy. Thing DO look different there. It turns out we are wearing a natural version of rose colored glasses when we are in Itly. The working hypothesis of the book, as I recall, was that the Mediterranean is a relatively dead sea. Sorry if that seems harsh and un-romantic, but look at the ocean at a beach in Maine, for example. It is black and forbidding looking. That is because the Atlantic is chock full of seafood, seaweed, fish and marine life. The Med is comparatively empty. But, an incredibly pretty shade of blue. The whole empty basin is a giant solar reflector, picking up and reflecting the color of the sky. And the lovely Italian peninsula is stuck like a long, skinny pier, out in the middle of that pond. So, the light over Italy is refracted from the water on all sides of it in an actual, unique sort of way. And that affects what we see and how we see it and maybe it even reflects somewhat on the famously sunny Italian personality.

A couple weeks ago, I saw a note in the Boston Globe about dream travel destinations. A question had been posed, and it was: Where in the world would you go, if money were no object at all? According to the survey, done by an affiliate of Expedia, Italy would be in the All Time Top Three Ultimate Destinations. Hawaii and Australia were right in there, too.

But consider this evidence as well: There are two new long-awaited books coming out right now. One is by Jonathan Harr. You may remember that 10 years ago he wrote his first big, successful book ”Civil Action”. Since then, he has published nothing at all but was evidently searching around for a new subject and came up with his real life mystery/adventure ”The Lost Painting”. It is the story of a famous Caravaggio that had been misplaced for a couple centuries.

The other author, John Berendt, was also a first time author when he published his wildly successful ”Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil” (272 weeks on the New York Times Hardcover Bestseller List!) a decade or so ago. Loved his casual, bemused, fly on the wall, observational style. His new book, like Harr’s is also somewhat of a real life mystery. It is called ”The City of Falling Angels” and it goes behind the scenes of the famously, devastating fire at the Fenice Opera House in Venice.

I’m not really ready to do book reviews of either of them, as they just came out. But the subjects attract me and I’ll probably get both of them this weekend. The point is, that both Jon and John were first time, out of the box literary stars. And what was the first thing they did when they could? Well, sure. They did the first thing any right thinking person would do: they took off for Italy and used writing the next great novel as an excuse to hang around for a few years ”doing research”.

Can you blame them?

Oh, Boy, we’re all gonna be famous, now.

When I say we, I mean in the Panicale we, sense. Panicale is in a big national travel magazine here in Italy that just came out.

PANICALE, UMBRIA—When I say we, I mean in the Panicale we, sense. Panicale is in a big national travel magazine here in Italy that just came out. Early this morning at Masolino’s, Andrea showed us the new October issue of ”DOVE” magazine with a big spread on our little town. That is DOVE as in WHERE, not as in Turtle Dove. Flashy, glossy, full color ”WHERE” magazine you see all over Italy. Che shock. And it is talking about real estate and what a good deal it is in this part of Italy and how they are going to tell their readers all the secrets of Umbrian Real Estate. We’ve been in some of the properties they mention but it is still fun to see Panicale with its name in lights so to speak.

AND IN THIS CORNER, WEIGHING IN AT . . .
This is the one where Tigre, the cat, explains life to the Great Danes. And their little dog, too.

ALDO’S CAFFE, PANICALE—The brightly red-haired Danish lady is standing by the bar. Is her name AnneMarie? She is there with some other fun Danish friends. Wiley waves Hi to her and we get introduced to the new people. I could not feel more ignorant, than when I think how casual Scandinavians all seem to make learning that second or third or twelfth language look. Anyway, with enough therapy maybe I can get over that. In the meantime, the cute young blonde between AnneMarie and myself has made a circle motion that encompassed all of them while being introduced and said, without any, repeat, any accent, ”Actually, we are all Danish” All this time, AnneMarie has been holding her black and tan pixie-ish terrier in her arms and drinking her coffee, sort of around the dog. So, in a smart-aleck way I said ”Oh, a bunch of Great Danes”! Note to self: attempts at intercultural humor before caffine on my part should be held to an absolute minimum. No matter. Without a nano second of time passing, The Cute Dane ducked down so she was way shorter than her already Very Tall Dane Dad and said pointing up at him, ”HE is the Great Dane. I am just a regular sized one.” Cute and Quick.

Introductions over, I ordered a cappuccino and sat down with some English people we had just met the night before. The Danes finished their coffee and let the terrier on his leash propel them towards the door, waving back at us over their shoulders. When All Animal Hell broke loose in Georgia. Tigre the massive, uncontested, king of the jungle here must have been dozing in the sun under a chair by the door. And the new puppy must have thought, Hey what is this? And that is when POW! BANG! YIPE! YIIIIIIPE! HELP! Cat, Dog, Danes, and multiple Baristas all blew out through the glass doors, into the piazza. In an unreal scrambled, screaming mass. It was really very like the Popeye Blutto fight scenes where you would see this big ball of blur and an arm poking out here and a head there.

I was kind of trapped behind our corner table but through the window we could see AnneMarie yank the terrified terrier straight up in the air by his collar and strangle dangle him there as high over her head as she can reach. I’m sure Mr. Terrier wasn’t complaining. Hung by the neck like a cattle rustler? Or cut to ribbons by a silver and black buzz saw? That is a tough one. And so is Tigre. Even caught cat napping, he’s dangerous. He weighs in several kilos, surely twice the terrier’s soaking wet weight. Eventually, the animal and people din died down and I could see the Danes wiping the blood off poor puppy’s nose. Ok. Now. Whose piazza is this? That’s right. Sweet, innocent purp, he had no idea what hit him. Other than it was fast, furry, and furious.

Later that day, after everything sort of calmed down and we knew that all the combatants were going to be all right, I said to Aldo, ”Boy, I wish I had had my camera on for that melee”. He just said ”La prossima”. Wait for the next time.

Umbrian Fantasy

We’ve discovered a secret garden. Great site about the Umbrian fantasy gardens called La Scarzuola. Amazing photos. Another Umbrian Must See. I remember having dinner with the owner Marco Solari one night in Panicale. I felt so ignorant that I had never even heard of his awesome place. What a pagan I turned out to be! Can not take me anywhere. Let alone to cool dinners with people who own famous architectural follies. I was reminded of Scarzuola again when a friend brought us the London Sunday Telegram and it featured this magic place in its Gardening section. They called La Scarzuola, and the famous Ninfa gardens outside Rome, “Hidden Italian Iydlls”. I must get there in October too. So many places, so little time. All my friends who have seen it rave about it. You will find it a bit southwest of Perugia, near Montegabbione and Terni. I will have better, complete directions after I have been there myself but I wanted to share it now in case anyone can still see it this fall!

Marco said they are happy to show La Scarzuola at all times of the year, but only to groups with reservations. It is well off the beaten path so you mostly likely will not just be passing by. I know I have not! I understand from my friend Elida that it is bit of an intricate and maze-like process to get there. “Ma, va le la pena.” — well worth the trouble. I will put La Scarzuola’s phone/fax here, so you can check out this garden fantasy during your next Umbrian trip. 076 383 7463.

Umbrian Pears in The Big Apple

These people research Renaissance paintings of fruit –“Natura Morta” – (interestingly, we talk about “Still Life paintings”, Italians say “Dead Nature” paintings. Ugh.) and they try to find trees that still bear that fruit today. Sometimes, there will be one tree in all of Italy left. Or worse, just someone’s memory of one.

Have you seen The New Yorker? Big, engaging article in Sept 5th Food Issue about our corner of Umbria. Very interesting story focused on the people who have a Folk Traditions Center just outside nearby Citta’ di Castello. Article is called “Renaissance Pears. Saving the fruits of the Medici”. They research Renaissance paintings of fruit –“Natura Morta” – (interestingly, we talk about “Still Life paintings”, Italians say “Dead Nature” paintings. Ugh. Who was the copywriter on that one?) and they try to find trees that still bear that fruit today. Sometimes, there will be one tree in all of Italy left. Or worse, just someone’s memory of one. Before the war there was tons of diversity, now there is much less. Everyone moved off the farm and into the city after the war.

The founder, Livio Dalla Ragione, was a decorated partisan hero during the war and a well known Roman artist after the war. Today, his daughter from Perugia runs the center and works the orchard of hundreds of trees herself. They also rescue ancient tools and other vestiges of rural farm life. But it sounds like their real passion is rescuing the fruit that is quickly going extinct in Umbria in the last 40 years. They say they want to save not only the tangible symbols of those days gone by, — but the actual smells and tastes as well. Today everyone eats the same boring two kinds of apples and three pears etc that they find at the supermarket.

I was very taken with the article and the concept and I’m definitely planning on going in October to see Livio and his daughter’s collections. Yes, i know this is a photo of my entire pomegranate harvest last September. It is holding a place for a photo from the Dalla Ragione’s orchard when I go there in October.

Ok, that’s the cultural and agricultural news for now. Tune in tomorrow for a complete list of Fall Activity in Umbria!