29 Oct, Week 11, Stresa

I was the only one in the street wearing shorts and a t-shirt even though it was a warm sunny day. I caught a few looks like I was doing something audacious as I marched off to the train station. I have yet to understand the absurd sensitivity towards any hint of cold among the Italians here, but I believe there is a psychophysical component influencing their selection of warm clothing. Since they’ve turned on the heat in the office, I find myself overheating to the point of wiping sweat from my brow with the sleeve of my shirt. It might be more than 80 degrees in there although others typically wear long sleeves and sometimes sweaters.

I caught a beautiful glimps of the castle of Arona across the lake from the train before disembarking in Stresa. Stresa is another small city on the shores of Lago Maggiore. It was already 1:30, so I made a bee-line for the lake. I felt a growing sense of excitement as I strode down the small lanes on the way to the water since it seems like it’s been a while since the last time I’ve ventured outside my usual domain. Stresa is a nice city, though I wouldn’t say it’s worth a visit if it didn’t have the lake.

Lago Maggiore is wider here than by Arona, and I could look across the expense of azure water to see the peaks of the Alps past the far shore. Today was probably clear enough to see snowcaps, but the foothills were cutting of my angle of sighte from here. Towards the end of the town I found the funicolare to ascend the nearby summit of Mottarone at 1491 meters. Given the near coincidence, I think mount Columbus might be a more appropriate name… The views from the cable car over forest reveled nature’s virtuoso. Here one could see pines interspersed with golden and cranberry-red trees before the backdrop of the lake and pointed mountains. I shot more than 100 photos, but forgot to buy a postcard for Jessica.

Among the mountain bikers and other passengers, there were 6 Americans on the cable car with me. 4 were older women that I could easily picture playing tennis with mom, and the other 2 were a couple from Ft. Lauderdale. I chuckled to myself a little as I heard them ask each other dumb questions like, “do we get out at the top, or does this thing just turn around?” After a little while I decided to share some of my knowledge, and my brochure of the hikes in the area.

From the peak you could really see far. I even heard someone say that one of the other lakes visible on the plains below was the Lago d’orta. I later confirmed the suspicion. I decided that I would try to walk down from the top instead of taking the cable car. The brochure said it would take 4 hours to climb, but the operator told me it would take about 2 ½ hours to walk down, so I’d make it just before dark. After about 30 minutes I found some old people that were looking for mushrooms. They had one large brown fungus in their basket, and didn’t know how much further it was to the halfway station. The trail was considerably more treacherous as I had anticipated as it was littered with apple-sized boulders that shifted under my feet as I rambled down the slope. I think the snugness of my new shoes is exasperated on a downhill grade, and as my feet began to hurt more and as the afternoon shadows stretched farther and farther away from the trees that created them I began to question my decision to walk down. I came upon some mountain bikers careening down the slopes, but when I asked them how much to go, one said 30 minutes, and the other 4 hours. In the end they agreed that if I kept moving I would reach the bottom. (Maybe they took one-too-many falls.)

I reached a clearing where another retired couple was resting on a rock while their feisty little dog ran amongst the trees. Near the edge of the clearing was a sinuous road with a dozen cows grazing on the other side. I heard their bells from afar, but had no idea what I was hearing. I was debating taking the road and trying to hitch a ride down the slope, but the couple pointed me towards a sign pointing back into the forest that said 2.15 to Stresa. They said I’d be fine, but had better not waste any time. I wondered if the 2.15 meant km, hours by foot, hours by bike, or the latest time someone should begin this trail....? The stones disappeared for a stretch, and I began to jog. If was going to have to race against the encroaching night, I’d better get moving because this whole side of the mountain was already in the shade.

I came to a sub-alpine meadow where I could see the wires of the cable car stretching over the valley. Using this as a reference I thought I might be able to orient myself on my little map, and get an idea how much more to go. I consulted my compass and found that the trail was going east, but to my dismay, the map did not indicate that the trail goes east. I pushed onward.

At the far edge of the meadow was a small green car. –Some sort of European attempt at a jeep. Inside I found a park ranger who told me just a half hour to go. I was relieved to hear more cowbells and find the midstation of the funivia soon after. I found the same Americans hanging around at the base when I arrived. We chatted for a minute, and then it was time for me to head back to the train station.

But a strange thing happened on the way back. I think a girl was trying to ask me to marry her!? I know this is one of those things people been teasing me about for a while, but it’s never happened before! I was walking along the path by the water back towards the train station, and this girl was going the opposite direction. After we passed, I got the sense that she stopped and turned around, and was following me. But I didn’t look back to see. After about 10 paces I felt a tap on the shoulder. It was her. I didn’t quite understand what she asked me; but it was something pertaining to the Fiera of Milano. I couldn’t figure out why she thought she knew me, but this wouldn’t be the first time I met someone I didn’t remember. She asked me some other generic questions and asked if we could sit down. I was pretty suspicious of this whole business, but there were a lot of other people walking around, so I couldn’t imagine that this was some sort of setup in the middle of the street. I continued to play along for a few more minutes as she pressed for an answer to why I don’t have a girlfriend.

This is an interesting question that triggered a bit of introspection. I’ve been pretty focused on working hard at school and haven’t really invested much time into relationships. Now I’m in Italy and struggle to communicate above an elementary level. She told me her dream is to get married and have children, and asked me what I thought about that. I told her I have a lot more traveling to do before I can let children slow me down, and that I should be heading towards the train station. She followed me a bit more to make sure we understood each other before saying goodbye.

28 Oct, Day 76, A “Normal Saturday”

Dear Blog, I woke as planned at 11:40 (without an alarm). I’m not exactly sure why I established 11:40 before going to bed, but I wanted to be sure to make it to the dry cleaners before they close at 12:30. So I ate some cereal and tidied a couple things around the house before picking up my shirt and pants dry-cleaned after the expectoration incident last week.

When inspecting the basil crop I found 3 caterpillars perfectly camouflaged amongst the leaves. (Well, maybe not perfectly because I found them…) But their hunger is damaging my crop and they had to be removed. I will be more vigilant for signs of other unlawful tenants because it’s coming time to harvest the crop and make a pesto from the leaves. My neighbor said hi while I was watering the plants and offered me some little pizzas -fresh from the oven, and invited me for lunch/dinner on Wednesday. Wednesday is a holiday, so I can attend if I don’t decide to do something else. I expect a great meal, so I will probably go, but I want to hold off on committing until Monday in case something else comes up. In any case, the onerous is back on me to come up with something to give them in exchange for the pizzas. I’m not sure I like this game of food-gift giving because I always feel like anything I try to make would be grossly inferior. However, I’m happy to purchase items of higher quality.

Then I decided to go for a jog to try to detox myself from last night. I went to dinner with some of the guys from work last, and I was pretty sure I’d regret eating the raw sausage spread on bread. But I’ve eaten plenty of other exotic things, and in a strange way I pride myself on the breadth of uncommon dishes I’ve tried. However, fighting a case of trichinosis is not my idea of a good time! However, I’m happy to report that there have been no signs of affliction yet.

The sun had come out after a long string of grey days, and since I’m between gym trials, I put on my running shoes and hit the road. I jogged out the park of Monza where I could hear the engines of the racecars in the autodromo. I think there’s some sort of Ferrari-racing event this week. Monza has a nice park. If I was writing a poem the park might be a patchwork quilt of grassy fields and shady woodlands speckled with lavish villas stitched together by wandering paths of crunchy gravel. I discovered the bocce courts where the old men never seem to get tired of arguing, and then started to head home though the gardens of the Villa Reale.

After showering, I decided it was time for a haircut since it’s been about 3 months, and it’s getting cold to leave the house with wet hair in the morning. I didn’t really know how to say a particular type of haircut, but only that I hadn’t cut it in 2 months, and it was getting too long. So the barber suggested a “a little shorter on the sides, and a little longer on the top” I agreed. He took his time and I think he did a pretty nice job although I’ve relinquished the long hair of my “California days.”

Next I went to fight with the guy at the tobacci shop for ripping me off on a phone card. I couldn’t get him to give me a refund or a new card, but found some satisfaction warning some other potential customers that he’d rip them off.

Next I went looking for a Halloween mask, found none, but bought a gelato, and ate it on the way back to my apartment. I called Patrick, and Australian living in Monza that I met a few weeks ago to see if he was watching the Derby tonight. The derby is the rivalry game between Milan on Inter. I guess it’s something like the Italian equivalent to the UM vs fsu showdown. Although he wasn’t interested in the game, we made dinner plans at 9. So I walked down the street to a bar called Cheers which has a couple of tv’s to watch the game on. I left at 8:50 when Inter was up 1-0. They ended up winning 4-3.

Patrick picked me up in front of the bar and we headed to his apartment in the northern part of the city. He made a few negronies to drink while I asked his girlfriend about the dinner she was working on. We started with an antipasto where I ate a breadstick wrapped in proschiuto. This configuration reminded me of a snack I used to make a long time ago. I remember wrapping salami around a green bean. I might have also used breadsticks, but the green bean was much more unique. I enjoyed talking about a number of topics in a mix of English and Italian while we enjoyed the antipasto, and then a steamy risotto made with a strong cheese. Then shrimp and pepper kabobs before dark chocolate and ginger cookies for dessert. I enjoyed the time together, and I hope we do meet up again. We made tentative plans for Sunday at Sere’s house.

A few of Monza's lesser-known charms

17 Oct, Day 65, The neighbors

I’m so far behind on the blog that I’m starting to forget what I wanted to say in the backlogged entries. I think I may have to change the model, and just write entries when I feel like writing instead of trying to write about everything.

In response to my sedentary lifestyle during the workweek, I’ve decided that I’m going to exercise at least twice a week. I started off with a free-be at the Palestra (fitness club) in my building. I would describe it as carino (cute) in comparison to a Ballys or LA Fitness. -Although I don’t think that the trainer was very pleased when I called his gym cute. Friday I went to OneFit, which I would describe as an adequate gym with a rather superfluous spa area which includes showers with perfumed water, a tanning oven, tea-drinking lounge, and a complete spectrum of other feminine treatments that I’m not interested in. Yesterday I went to Freesport. The first thing I noticed upon walking in was a distinct smell of gym-sweat. Gym sweat is a different thing from the stinky-people-that-don’t-bathe-enough sweat. I just read somewhere that it contains a steroid andrstenol, but it quickly breaks down into a hormone that people find more offensive after aerosolizing. But I don’t think that’s relevant to this discussion.

I greeted Marco, the receptionist, and explained that I’m looking for a gym for the next 5 months. He introduced me to another trainer, also named Marco. It seems to me that Marco is the most popular name amongst the Italians I deal with. There’s at lest 3 at work (excluding myself), now 2 at the gym. Anyway…

This is why I’m behind in the blog. I’ve written half a page and have yet to write anything I was meaning to write. Maybe this is the first sign of a changing mindset corresponding to my slackened activity level since moving here. –But the “changing mindset” debate is an entirely different topic from my agenda tonight.

2 weeks ago my neighbor gave me some dessert while I was sitting out on the balcony talking on the phone. Last weekend I went to Torino with Vicente, where I enjoyed strolling the wide boulevards of the city, saw a replica of the Shroud of Turin, and the box where they keep the real thing, had an awesome coffee, and bought some chocolate. I ate most of it on the Alta-Velocita train on the way back, but saved a few pieces for later. I decided it would be a nice gesture to offer the 3 remaining pieces to my neighbor as reciprocation for the homemade treats she gave me a week ago.

They didn’t open the door when I knocked on Sunday afternoon, and I was occupied Sunday evening at the Gamescapes digital art exposition, and then an aperitivo with Umberto and the Genova crew. Monza is hosting all sorts of weird video game history stuff in preparation of the World Cyber games later this week, but this exhibit was a joke. I was hoping for some surreal scenery like that which you might find on digitalblasphemy.com, or at least the quality of graphics you might find on a well-made PS2 game, but this was really a waste of time. Then we strolled around town for a bit, contemplated the window shoppers, ate some focaccia, had a look in the duomo and roman bridge ruins before deciding that it was time to move on. We went for the aperitivo at a bar called “Loft” which advertises itself as an American bar. I would hardly agree because American bars don’t do aperitivos. But we had a good time that digressed into an interesting discussion about childhood cartoons and eventually morphed into a short debate on if the Smurfs were a communist society

But upon my return from the gym yesterday I saw the neighbors outside and decided to offer them the remaining 3 chocolates. I don’t think you can give an Italian grandmother food without getting more in return. So I was invited in for some coffee and was instructed how to make the Tartufi di Castagne that I’d tried the week before. You start with 20 castagne lise fessate il sitoccio (boiled chestnuts chopped), add 50 gm zucchero, 100gm mandorle, 1 noce di burro, latte grenella di ciocolato de cacao amaro. (Add sugar, almond, butter, and bitter chocolate on top.) While we were working out the details of the recipe, I was tried some homemade cherry jam, pickled eggplant, and a strange fruit I think they call cachi, oregano, and canionlino (maybe bayleaf?). They remind me a bit of grandma and grandpa, and even have a grandchild about my age. With a little luck, I may be able to get a few cooking lessons from them when the return from Prague. But in the mean time I have to think of something to give in return for all this food I took home with me.


Some pictures of Torino from the weekend before

8 Oct, Day 57, Yacht shopping in Genova

6 Oct, Day 55, The harder I try, the luckier I get

I made an appointment with one of the language schools in Monza to take a placement test in hopes that we could form an Italian class because the private lessons are roughly 40Euros an hour, and I think that’s a bit extreme.

So I threw out the trash on the way out, but the door closed behind me, and I was trapped outside for about 20 minutes before someone else left with the key to get out. I think it’s pretty stupid that you need a key to leave. -Also the deadbolts that lock with a key from the inside. What’s the point? –to prevent people from leaving? What if there’s a fire?

Anyway, eventually someone rescued me and I was on my way to inlingua for the exam. I was pleased that the teacher was a cute girl that looked to be about my age. The exam that was scheduled for 10-15 minutes stretched on for more than 30, and ended with us trading phone numbers. We were the last 2 in the building and as we left I wondered if it would be inappropriate to invite her to join me for a coffee. But I had dinner on my mind as it was after 8 and I only had a small snack after work, so we went our separate ways without any invitations being offered.

I wandered around outside for a while before selecting my dinner venue. Tonight would be the Vanity café. Vanity café has the façade of a south beach lounge with the bouncer in a black suit included. I descended the steps to find a cavernous room with an arched brick roof that focusing attention on the bar where bartenders mixed drinks in front of dozens of bottles were illuminated from below. Across the room was a DJ and music videos that didn’t match the songs being played were projected on the wall.

I smiled at the hostess, but when you ask for a table for 1, they always seem to stick me off in a corner in the back. I walked by to heavyset guys demolishing some steaks and thought they might be from Texas, but they were speaking Italian, and I don’t think Texans speak Italian. I tried to make some small talk with the waitress before I ordered up a calzone and salad. The food wasn’t anything worth mention, but I enjoyed the music for a while, though it seemed to get worse by the time I was wrapping up my dinner. I thought I’d try to kill some time and see if the place starts to fill up with people. So I asked for a sweet wine hoping to get something like I had at Camillo’s last night. I think they gave me Champaign mixed with southern comfort. Not good.

But the place did not fill up, and when there was only other occupied table, I decided it was time to leave. A few more attempts at small talk on the way out lead to nothing, but I hung around outside talking to the bouncer for a bit. He suggested the bet gym in Monza and a few salsa clubs in Milano. I don’t know if I’ve explained that the situation with going out in Milan I that if I stay after the last train leaves at 12:30, I need a ride, a taxi, or I’ve gotta cowboy up until the first trains of the morning leave around 6AM. I don’t really have a problem cowboying up, but I’m not eager to go in alone. Especially since people seem closed in the restaurants. They’re sitting at tables with their friends, and it feels very awkward to walk up and ask to join them. But I’ve made more forward introductions before, and I may work my way up to trying it in Italian before long. But I was presented with an opportunity to introduce myself in English tonight.

I left the vanity café and resumed my wandering the city, though I was feeling quite satisfied with the outcome of the night so far. I walked though an outdoor café with quite a few young people sitting and standing around. Some appeared to be drinking the strange champaign-southern comfort wine, but it didn’t seem like anyone made eye contact with me, so I continued the promenade. The next café was mostly empty, but I overheard 3 girls at a table speaking English.

This was the third time I’ve heard people speaking English in Monza, and I was not going to let this one go unanswered. So I met 2 Americans and Irish girl working as English teachers. I wondered if they work at the same language schools I’ve been trying to arrange a class with, but I got the impression that they teach at a private school. *I’m listening to lord of the dance as I write this entry. Do any of my Irish readers know if I might be able to see a show of this type when I go to Ireland?

We stayed in the café until well after midnight before the girls wanted to find something to eat. We went to a restaurant that I’ve never been to before, but they owner seemed to know them well. He reopened the place at their request, and gave me a frothy beer while stoking up the oven to make some pizzas. Mario actually has a striking resemblance to uncle Felix, only he’s about 40 or 50 pounds heavier, and has hair that’s whiter than it is grey. But he has the same smile and mannerisms. I later found out that he even plays and sings the songs of the same genera on the guitar. I think we could really have a blast at this restaurant!

So Mario and one of the other waiters came over to our table to sing while the pizzas cooked. Then the guitar was passed to me! I wished I knew how to actually play, but I managed to finger my way though stand-by-me well enough that they at least knew the tune before Mario took his guitar back and finished the song for me. Before I knew it, the pizzas were nothing more than crumbs on a plate, and it was time to go home. I hope to see them again, so I asked to trade phone numbers before going our separate ways. In hindsight I guess I should’ve offered to walk them home being that it was pretty late, but I only remembered after they were already gone.

4 Oct, Day 52, Cardinal Gastronomy

I took the train into Milano to have dinner with Camillo and his family. Camillo was one of the first people I contacted back in February when I decided that I would make an earnest attempt at finding a job in Italy. We’ve kept in touch as I’ve asked him for advice numerous times.

I got out of the Metro in the piazza Argentina, to find no less than 9 streets criss-crossing the little piazza. But after 2 laps around the piazza that I interrupted several times to consult the map, I managed to deduce which one would take me the right way. But soon I arrived at Camillo’s apartment where I met his wife and nephew. The conversation soon switched to Italian. (I’m always happy to practice anyway.) As we recounted some common memories of Stanford.

The meal started off with an appetizer of a white wine, seeded green olives, and some mildly salted chips –somewhat like Tostitos. Then we moved the table where I was treated to some typical food of Tuscany. We switched to red wine and started with something like a baked pancake made of chick-peas (If I understood it correctly). It reminded me of a moist pie crust without much sugar. –Really good! Then was some beef marinated in wine overnight and some mashed and baked potato croquets. Dessert was a home-made tiramisu and thimble-sized chalice of sweet wine. I believe my tiramisu standards are pretty high as I used to eat it all the time when I worked in a gourmet Mediterranean-food restaurant, but this blew it away.

I left in a hurry to get to the Central station before the last train to Monza leaves at 12:30, but I really enjoyed the company, and I hope we can meet up again. If I knew how to cook anything respectable I’d invite them over. Maybe if I import a George Forman grill I can start treating people to authentic grad-school cuisine--- I’m sure they’ll love it!

Mantova

Lake Como with Christine and Rick

23 Sept, Day 42, The Weizn

20 Sept, Day 39, Culinary Adventures
I went out to dinner twice this week –shattering previous standards of dining afar since I’ve moved to Monza. The reason for this was twofold. I found myself staying past 8 at work as we had a deadline Friday and returning home after it was too late to buy dinner at the grocery store, and I was starting to get tired of my standard dishes.

So I had two excellent dinners. The first was at Osteria del Cavolo. I believe this restaurant has set the record for the best breadsticks I’ve ever had, but the rest of the dinner was analogously delicious. After two mini pieces of bruschetta, I dove into the primi piati of two giant ravioli covered in a thick meat sauce. Next was two small bits of beef with a crust of a baked pistachio breading. These were accompanied with a buttery spinach and a few green beans. I concluded with a rich and piquant coffee.

I think the other meal is I prime candidate for the best meal I’ve had after 6 weeks in Italy. (And the restaurant is less than 500 meters from my house, so I will certainly return for seconds!) I opened the heavy wooden door of Magazzini Del Caffe to find a snug and welcoming cluster of tables tucked into booths and several more tables above the rafters in the lofted area. I took a seat at on a bench facing the door at a table for two. I started with bread and wine (-like Christ), before being presented with a small cup of a creamy soup to dunk some crouton-size pieces of bread. The first course was a gnocchi in a particular sauce that may have involved bits of pumpkin. Next was 1 and ½ breasts of quail with herbs and potatoes. Dessert was three delicate morsels of, (I’m guessing) whipped egg whites and sugar, and a coffee liqueur to put on the finishing touches.








I arrived in Munich HBF at 8:58AM after taking the overnight train from Milan. I had a bunk in a cabin of 4 filled by an Italian family. I think they were a bit shy and we didn’t really speak at all. I guess the “no talking code of public transportation” still holds on night trains. Actually, some people were drinking beers and talking in the aisle outside our cabin until after I went to bed, but with blindfolds and earplugs it takes more to bother me.

I was struck by the amount of bustle in the central station, but even more astonished by the amount of young people wearing typical German “farmer” clothes. I think the boys look rather ridiculous in the knee-length leather shorts, with long socks, a collared shirt, and occasionally suspenders, a hat, or other Bavarian folk-regalia. The girls on the other hand can look divertingly interesting in their low cut farmer’s daughter/milkmaid dresses.

I reached the fraunhofestr stop after a short ride on the metro and called my friend Daniel with whom I’d be staying. Moments later we were striding over the bridge linking both halves of Munich divided by a river.

Next priority was finding some breakfast. In addition to eggs we had some traditional Bavarian fare: a pretzel and pickles. We passed the time by sharing some old stories and exchanged news of new adventures until it was time to head for the Weizn where we had planned to meet Thomas, and maybe even Benno- (2 more of my other teammates from BMW.) We picked up a community rental bike for me, and began to make our way thought the traffic towards on the way to the tents. -The German train service has sprinkled rental bikes all over the city. They’re heavy, but build to take a pounding. I think it’s a great idea.

Weizn means meadow in German, but it has been turned into a large paved lot covered by 2 or 3 dozen large tents –where the drinking takes place, a temporary police station –to maintain a small amount of order, and an amusement park at the far end –for the people that didn’t drink enough beer. I’d guess the tents probably hold close to 100,000 people and they might cram another 50k in the beergartens located in between them. I would appraise the whole scene as a county fair with an emphasis on beer; only this one was 1 or 2 orders of magnitude larger than anything I’ve ever imagined.

So we pushed our way to the entrance of one of the higher-class tents, and Daniel was somehow able to convince the guards that we should be allowed in before the rest of the people waiting outside. Inside was stuffed like an undersize suitcase full of people. The focus of the tent was a stage surrounded by tables, but we pushed our way up to the balcony level where a friend had a table reservation. We ordered up a few liters of beer and began to mingle with the people who had been there since 8 in the morning. I was actually quite surprised by the level of sobriety and apparent education of the people. Just about everyone I met could speak English as a second language!

Then Thomas called that he was outside. We gave him a wave from the stairs, and told him we’d see him inside, only the guards would not make an exception for him, and we didn’t see him come in. At this point I was a bit divided between trying to switch tents or doing something else so that we could all get together, or just sticking it out here and meeting up later. We decided to take the second option and opt for a morning rendezvous.

After about 9 hours of beer and shenanigans in the tent it was closing time. We got back on the bikes and grabbed some McDonalds on the way to the afterparty at a club. (I was a bit disappointed that we didn’t find a more “German” snack, but there wasn’t much else open. I think the club could easily meet the standards of south beach with all the typical features ranging from a blockade at the entrance, to overpriced drinks, and excellent djs. Only the clientele was still dressed in their lederhosen. After a bit of dancing, and a lot of standing around, we decided it was time to throw in the towel and head home.

24 Sept, Day 43, Through mostly clean glass
We got up early (considering when we went to bed) and headed towards a café on the way to the station where we would meet Thomas for a brunch. We caught up on some of the latest news since our last encounter at Stanford over some weiswurst and pretzels before it was time for me to grab the train back to Milano.

I was sorry to have to say goodbye after such a short weekend, but I think we will meet again before I leave Italy. The orderliness and modernism of the Munich station is a radical contrast Italy. It’s hard to believe the two countries share a common border.

But the transition from Germanic continues after passing the border. I saw a number of handsome castles from the train, and the other Italians in the cabin with me were glued to the window as we passed until after we passed Insbruck, and the signs continued to be in German and Italian almost until Trento. From here we slithered our way though a valley in the shadows of the Dolmites before it got dark near Verona. I hope to go back to these mountains for a closer look, but I fear the first snows of winter may not be very far off.