With a little help from our friends

Not bad for 12 years

By Italian law, each and every car must be inspected for its road-worthiness. In November, we took our car in for its regularly scheduled revisione, inspection. All was fine, but when we picked the car up at the end of the day, Moreno said to us, “Questa macchina è vecchia – dodici anni. Dopo questo, non farete un altro revisione. This car is 12 years old. After this one, don’t do another inspection!”

Moreno

Okay. So the next inspection wasn’t due for 2 years, which to us meant that we had a long time to think about it. A month later, the car started making some “strange” noises, so back to Moreno we went. After paying for the repairs, he reminded us once again, “Questa macchina è vecchia.” Okay, okay!

We’ve known Moreno for years and he’s always given us good advice. So, we started thinking about a replacement sooner, rather than later. Our first step: the Goldilocks Method.

For those of you who don’t know us personally, I’ll describe our perpetual dilemma: Em is 6’5″ tall. In Italy that’s technically 1.95 meters. But everybody always rounds up: He’s 2 meters tall which is not the norm, so finding a car that fits can be problematic.

Classics weren't much better

We’d heard good reports about Smart Cars. He didn’t fit, they were too small. We are fascinated with the re-release of the Fiat 500. He fit IF there was a sun roof and it was open, again too small. It was recommended that we buy an SUV, which in Italy we call a “soov,” but they’re just way too big for us. We needed something “just right,” as the story goes. The next day, after going from dealership to dealership, we concluded that our best option was to get a newer model of our 12-year-old favorite.

Gaia - the voice of reason

First stop: talk with Gaia at Lottini Insurance. She assured us that the rate would stay the same, assuming the same model, and suggested that we consider 2 things about any potential purchase: one, was a number that indicated energy displacement within the engine, and two, (and I’m not kidding) the number of watts. What? We wanted a car, not a light bulb. We clearly didn’t know what either of those things were, so Gaia helped us  out by saying “Provate per trovare la stessa macchina, just try to find the same car.” Perfect! We were off to see our trusty friend and mechanic Moreno.

We asked Moreno if he knew of a reliable used car dealership. “Certo. Moncini. Sure, Moncini.” Within minutes, we zipped around the corner to meet Angelo Moncini. We told him we were scheduled to leave within a week, but we wanted him to be looking for a newer car for us in the meantime. We all agreed—either within 5 days or in the spring. He called the next day. Yikes! Where’s that slow Mediterranean pace?

Now, paperwork is something that Italy reveres, along with the resulting bureaucracy. So when Angelo found us a car, we weren’t overly hopeful that anything could really materialize in the short time left.

Fiorella - little flower

We immediately scurried off to see our friend Fiorella at the bank in Fiesole. Within no time, we had a plan for her to make the payment in our absence. “Non c’è un problema, it’s not a problem.” She’s saved the day more than once in our various times of need! That evening with the help and flexibility of Angelo and his son Simone, we traded cars just hours before departure. Whew! What an experience. Our only delay was waiting for the newly purchased car insurance to go into effect—at precisely 6:30 pm that evening—thanks to Gaia. Also not a problem. We just got a coffee and talked with Simone to pass the time.

The next morning we flew away feeling a little amazed that we’d actually made the transaction happen in so little time. We couldn’t have done it without help from those we trust who are in the know.

Simone - would you buy a used car from this man? We would—and did!

Two days later, we received a message from Simone: it seemed that we’d forgotten to leave a crucial document with our old car. Now that was a problem. The solution—an emergency assist from our neighbor, Sandro. We Skyped him on his cell phone and within minutes, we had a scheme to deliver the document to Simone. As The Beatles said in their song, we truly DO “get by with a little help from our friends.”How did we get so lucky?!

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music – Virtual CD

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

In Touch In Tuscany

Island in the Air

Magic.

Civita di Bagnoregio

There are many beautiful villages in Italy. Tuscany boasts her share of wonderment. Liguria is a seaside visual feast. The Maremma is rustic and wild, a place where time seems to have been frozen. But last week, I read of a place I’d not heard of before. Immediately we were intrigued: Civita di Bagnoregio.

I love the unique, the special, the quirky. I’m in constant search of those moments that create memories. As I read about Civita, I felt sure that it was one of those “chosen” places.

The leaning tower

Tucked into a corner where Toscana, Umbria and Lazio hold hands is this lovely, little, magical place. You know in Italy, sometimes unforeseen circumstances cause things to shift rather dramatically. Everybody knows about the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Faulty foundation. There was no choice other than to try and “correct” the problem by modifying as they built. Voila! The famous Leaning Tower.

Brunelleschi's dome

Brunelleschi lost the competition to cast the bronze doors of the Florence Baptistry to Ghiberti. The result? He turned his attention from sculpture to architecture—creating one of the largest free-standing domes in the world. Magnificent! Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? If the foundation had been stable in Pisa, the city would be “just another Italian city.” If Brunelleschi had won the door competition, the world-famous Duomo of Florence might have been “just another Italian cathedral.” But something happened in those strange circumstances that resulted in magic. This is also true with the village of Civita di Bagnoregio.

Only by foot

Founded by the Etruscans around 2500 years ago, Civita was a thriving sister city to Bagnoregio, both snugly tucked into the northeastern corner of Lazio (the province of Rome). In the 16th century Civita slowly lost its power, relinquishing favor to nearby Bagnoregio. Then, in the 17th century, Fate dealt Civita a decisive blow. The town was shaken by an incredible earthquake, which destroyed much of the connecting land. Then, erosion over the centuries ate away at the remaining ground until the village has become something of an island. In fact, it’s now reachable only by foot across a narrow bridge.

Where Toscana, Umbria and Lazio hold hands

So we were on our way. We crossed town and picked up the A1 at Firenze Sud. After about an hour we passed Arezzo. We saw the exits for Assisi and Perugia but continued south. As we skirted Umbria and entered Lazio, we knew we were close. With the aid of a map and gps, near Orvieto, we drove between the train tracks and the freeway into the countryside. Within minutes we found Bagnoregio. It was a lovely town. Very typical, which means narrow one-way streets lined with shops. At the end of town we parked the car and walked toward what seemed to be the end of the earth.

Delivery of the day

From a vantage point jutting out into a deep valley, we looked through an iron gate to see Civita isolated and perched atop the distant cliffs. We followed the road and began the long walk across the footbridge. A small Ape truck passed us—probably bringing supplies to the few remaining inhabitants. Its engine faltered and strained to make the last few meters up the steep incline.

Day in the life

We wandered through the village streets, each one a picture postcard. The town was quiet, settling in for winter no doubt. At the end of November, the seasons were beginning to shift, autumn relinquishing its tentative grip. There were several cats, huddled together in the shade, or lounging in sunny patches. Folks were friendly. Each time we commented about how beautiful the town was, someone responded with “Si, si, questa città e veramente bellisima. Yes, yes, this city is truly beautiful.”

The devastating earthquake claimed the land that surrounded Civita, leaving it a village balanced atop an island precipice. But that misfortune created the Civita we know today. As sad as the circumstances were, the resulting beauty of the village is remarkable. It’s something like seeing angels dancing on the head of a pin.

Texture and detail everywhere

Breathtaking! We each snapped about 150 pictures. We took distant photos. Detail shots. Since everything is built from tufa, volcanic stone, the textures were absolutely fascinating. However, the one picture that you won’t be able to see is the one in my mind’s eye—my first impression of Civita. Fantasy-like. It seems as though you have no choice but to visit Civita to see for yourself. Then, you’ll press your own unique first impression into memory.

Following is a short video we made to capture just a hint of the magic at this special place.

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

Never Sleep – Original Music

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music – Virtual CD

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In Touch In Tuscany

Driven to Distraction

Nothing is simple

5 years ago we studied 8 hours a day for an entire month to prepare ourselves for our Italian Drivers’ License. We passed the written portion of the test without any problems and then had to enroll in drivers’ training behind the wheel to learn the secrets of driving like an Italian. We passed that test too. Whew!

Autoscuola at Piazza Libertà

I keep a calendar of “events” that need to happen. Well, guess what needed to happen in November?! That’s right. We needed to renew our licenses. So we stopped by the Eurodrive Autoscuola, where we had done our original training. The young lady behind the desk wondered why we were there in October. “No, no. E troppo presto! It’s too early.” “Va bene la prima di novembre. It’s okay the first of November.”

Righty

Okay. You are no doubt wondering what it takes to renew the patente, license? We asked and the answer was a 3-part response. We’d need our old license along with our codice fiscale (the Italian version of a social security card). We’d need 95 euro each. And, this is the big one: A VISION TEST. Now this is the hard part of the process for a very simple reason. I am very nearsighted. I’ve worn “corrective lenses” for roughly 3/4 of my life. So what’s the big deal you might ask? The answer is: mono-vision. Years ago my trusty eye doctor prescribed a simple solution for someone nearsighted who wants to read, do needle work, or whatever: one lens. That’s right. I have an eye designated for distance and one that does close-up stuff. It actually works amazingly well. When I asked about driving, I was told that mono-vision is fine. So I’ve enjoyed wearing one contact lens, in my left eye only, for years. But in Italy, they don’t seem to care much about mono-vision. No. You just have to read the eye chart. I was nervous. My right eye is a speed reader with books, but graciously defers to my left eye for anything more demanding than say, farther away than arm’s length. Eye charts are always at least 10 feet away. My right eye began to cry. No way little Righty could pass a distance test. Oh, what to do . . .

My old glasses

Ah, yes. Glasses. I pulled them out of their hard shell case and Em immediately asked, “Where’d those come from?” I explained about my vision anxiety and that I needed to retrain Righty to see far away. “We HAVE to pass that test!” Not to drive in Italy is unheard of. Everybody here relishes the right to cut corners, stray left of center, and speed as though they are being pursued by angry wild boar. “I MUST renew my license!”

Hi-tech testing

Now, at this juncture, you may wonder how I originally passed the vision test. I had the same anxiety and forgot about wearing glasses, so I wore 2 contact lenses. Wow! Distance vision in both eyes! I could spot an owl in the dark at 100 meters, but I couldn’t see to button my sweater. Luckily, Em and I went in together and there, poised on a stool, was Sophia Loren‘s twin. This woman was too beautiful and very stylishly dressed. She immediately began flirting with Em. She asked him to read the chart. And I am not making this up: you cover one eye with your old driver’s license, while the “free eye” reads the chart. Then you switch. Card over the other eye, read the chart. Em’s distance vision is quite good, impressive, according to la Dottoressa, the lady doctor. She complimented him, smiling, chatting and flitting around the room.

The Big Test

Then it was my turn. Card up. Read. Okay. Switch. Card up. Read. I wasn’t sure that she cared about my vision, since she was still gazing into Em’s eyes at the time. But I passed, so what did I care?
But after 5 years, I was slightly worried. Righty could falter. I could go down in a tailspin after the first big E. But no! The glasses worked! I read the chart equally well with both Lefty and Righty. I was thrilled! Also, this year the la Dottoressa apparently had a prior engagement, so il Dottore put us through our paces.

I walked to the front counter and paid my 95 euro, while Em was at the mercy of il Dottore. Whew! What a relief! The young lady behind the counter told me that the new sticker would have to come from Rome—within the next couple of months. She asked if our information was all correct and current. Unfortunately, I had to tell her that the planning commission had changed our address. Same house, same everything—just a different street name and number. Nobody can explain why. So, yes, it’s a bit odd.

Center of the Universe

She looked stern. She informed me that we HAD to have the correct information on the new license and that would require a trip to the official office to get that approval. We made that visit the very  next day and were told that a second new sticker would be issued for our licenses—from Rome, in about 6 months. In the meantime, we’d have to carry proof that we’d applied for the changes. Righty began to cry.

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music – Virtual CD

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In Touch In Tuscany

In the Market for Memories

Arezzo is everything old

The largest antiques market in all of Tuscany is in the town of Arezzo. It’s always the first Sunday of the month and the Saturday before. Between the incredible antiques and the medieval architecture around every corner, you could spend the entire day just wandering around, lost in the wonder. A visit to Arezzo is one of those intensely real experiences—the stuff of memory-making.

Odds and ends

We used to go to the market EVERY month. We were looking for little odds and ends to create mood in our place. An old brass pot on the hearth says warmth. I wouldn’t cook in it, but it is a sweet little addition. We found a candle snuffer, a copper ladle and just the right lamp shade. Something always catches our eye. But once we’d “feathered our nest” we didn’t need anything else, so we went less often. Focused on other things, we knew that the market was still humming along as usual, but without us.

Relax amid relics

Typically, we’d check out the market in the morning, and then drop into one of our favorite restaurants for lunch. On an especially fun day we found a restaurant owned by a cute little dachshund. (Okay, her person technically owned the place, but don’t let the little dog know). We wove our way through the narrow streets and enjoyed many a lunch there until the doxie sold the restaurant and the place went to the dogs—not really, I just couldn’t resist saying that.

Park free!

Last week, we decided to go to the market, just like old times. When we arrived, we discovered a “new” place to park, just outside the wall—for free. Wow. That was different. As we approached the old Roman wall, we read signs for the scale mobile, moving stairs (escalators). What!!?? Sure enough, during our 5-year absence, Arezzo had installed a series of escalators to move visitors up the hill and into the ancient center. It was a bit odd to see something so new and glitzy. We were stunned. But only about half of the escalators actually worked that day, so we felt consoled that all the quirky ambiance wasn’t totally lost.

Whatever you want

Once inside the city walls we meandered through the streets. Merchants lined every available inch of space as always. Some we recognized from years before. There was enough furniture to fill every villa in Tuscany. There were brass pieces. Lamps. Fireplace tools and screens. There were books and bric-a-brac. Nothing had been missed. If it’s really, really old and transportable, it’s probably for sale at the Arezzo Market.

There's nothing quite like a buca

We browsed a while and inquired about an old fireplace back plate. Troppo caro per noi, too expensive for us. We wandered a while more until mid-day when our thoughts turned to food. The last time we’d come to Arezzo we found this sweet little restaurant in a so-called buco, hole. It was on a side street and down a stone stairway below ground level, hence the buco status. But inside, what fun! The place has arches and vaults, all hand painted and decorated. Hmmm. We just needed to recall where it was. Em asked if I remembered the name. I gave a very tentative response . . .  something about San Francesco. That was enough info. He stepped into the next shop and asked. The woman had a puzzled look at first, then lit up as she said, “Oh, si! La Buca di San Francesco.” She gestured directions waving  to go right and then indicating that we should turn left and then immediately left again. And there it was, right across the street from La Chiesa di San Francesco, the Church of Saint Frances—just as we remembered. It all came back to us.

Thank you Mario!

We had a tasty lunch with wonderful Tuscan hospitality. The star of the restaurant was Mario, a dapper older Italian gentleman who was no doubt the owner. He caught Em snapping my photo and told him to sit down and he’d take a picture of both of us. He then surprised us with a small bowl of Pappa al Pomodoro, a bread and tomato stew spiced with bits of pepperoncini. After lunch Mario insisted that we have some Vin Santo, wine of the saints along with his homemade biscotti. Only AFTER this little taste treat would he even begin to consider bringing us coffee.

After lunch, we retraced our steps and made our way to the car. We didn’t make a single purchase that afternoon. We just browsed. Strolled around. Meandered. What a wonderful way to spend a sunny autumn day.

Pop open a few memories

We love old things: an ancient city like Arezzo; an old friend in a shop we haven’t seen for a while; or musty relics and antiques waiting for a new owner to take them home and breathe new life into them. Mostly, we enjoy creating experiences that grow old in their own unique ways, maturing like an old wine kept in the cantina, cellar. Memories can be uncorked after years of mellowing—sometimes even fresher and tastier than the day they were made!

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music – Virtual CD

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

In Touch In Tuscany

Cooking in Chianti

Friday morning at 9:30, we arrived at Malborghetto, a wonderful restaurant in the small town of Lecchi in Chianti. Immediately, Simone offered us a cappuccino, which is the only authentic way to start the day. The coffee tasted good, warm. We lingered, chatting for 30 minutes or so and he said, “Andiamo! Let’s go!” As we walked toward the kitchen, he handed each of us an apron, embroidered with our name—a nice personal touch. And so we began.

Simone's serious, professional kitchen

First, we washed our hands while Simone pointed out various objects and ingredients in the kitchen. He showed us how the 3 cooks work together, elbowing each other when needed to gain passage. We giggled and nodded. Today’s menu, Simone announced, will be Crostini with liver pate, Pasta and bean soup, Lemon Chicken, and a second chicken, diced and sautéed with garlic and spinach. And, of course, Tiramisu, for dessert.

Layering the cookies with the cream

We started with the Tiramisu. Emerson separated eggs (maybe for the first time in his life but demonstrated a natural talent). Rosemary took the task of whipping the egg whites. Simone told us that when the whites are sufficiently whipped they will cling to an inverted bowl. He slowly tipped the bowl and the meringue stayed put. It looked a bit like a magic trick. We were beginning to get the idea that everything Simone did was for a very specific reason. I blended the whipped whites into the yolks and we added the mascarpone. Finally we dipped Pavensini cookies into cooled black coffee and layered the cookies with the creamy pudding mixture. Then it was off to the fridge.

Now, I’m not going to go into every detail of the preparation of each course, but I will tell you that we cooked until 2 pm. It was as much a chemistry lesson as lunch preparation. Finally, we went back into the dining room and began eating our creations.

Warm pate with toasted bread

The crostini were the best I’ve ever eaten. Simone insists on keeping the pate warm over a burner. He supplied us each with a spoon and we dipped into the savory treat, spreading it sparingly over toasted bread triangles. The next spoonfuls were a little more full. The third round was blatantly heaping. Crunch, crunch. Munch, munch. Quite tasty and satisfying. And then there was soup.

Soup with truffle shavings

The soup is a classic dish. Fresh egg pasta is made and left to dry for a short while before adding it to simmering beans. The soup was perfect for a fall day. Quite tasty and satisfying. Oh, did I mention the wine? As we ate, we enjoyed wine, selected specifically for each course. After the soup I was ready for a nap. But no! We still had the main dish—or as Italians say, il secondo piatto, the second plate.

A decorative line of herbs to separate the dishes

As we finished our soup, Simone‘s wife Ale had prepared our plates. A line of spices divided the plate into two sections: one for the lemon chicken and the other side for the pollo al inzimino, chicken with vegetables (spinach). The lemon chicken was delicious, as was everything else. Troppo cibo, too much food! Although we were more than satisfied, the meal was not over.

Cocoa dusted Tiramisu

As we finished the main course, Ale presented the Tiramisu. It had been dusted with cocoa powder and looked beautiful. But dessert after everything we’d eaten? Okay, okay, just a forkful. Again, it was delicious—and I’m not just saying that because we made it. The food was wonderful. The wine was excellent. And Simone and Ale? The best!

Doxie bonus

Just as we were about to lumber our way to the car, Ale appeared again, with their 3 bassotti, dachshunds. We were in heaven! After a few snuggles with Vittoria, Biancaneve (snow white), and Bartolo, we called it a day. And dinner . . . well, dinner was out of the question—maybe even lunch the next day.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again, “Ah, Italia!”

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music – Virtual CD

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

In Touch In Tuscany

A tisket, a tasket . . . an olive basket

November is right around the corner and that means one thing in Italy: the olive harvest.

It won't be long!

We have just fewer than 20 trees, so that makes it an all day job for the 2 of us to pick them clean. Our friend, Giacomo, brought us baskets last year that we could tie around our waists so our hands remained free to pick away. But borrowing baskets from him means that we have to wait until they’re available. You might ask, “So what’s so hard about that?” Well, nothing really, except when the olives are deemed ready, there’s a flurry to pick them as quickly as possible, press them immediately and enjoy the oil—preferably within the same day, but surely within the same week. So we concluded that we needed our own baskets for fast action. Traditional baskets. Simple. Should be readily available, right? Think again.

Better than nothing

We like to buy local when we can, so we went to our neighborhood mesticheria, hardware store, where we asked, “Avete cesti per cogliere le olive? Do you have baskets for picking olives? “Si! Certo! Yes! Sure!” And they did. Just not the kind that you tie around your waist. They had large, small and medium sized baskets—all with handles. A handle means that you lose the use of one picking hand and you really can’t afford the time. Last year, Giacomo called and said, “Ora, now!” and we picked between rain showers. No, a handled basket just wouldn’t do. Don’t you have simple baskets that tie around the waist?” The answer surprised us. “No! L’uomo che le fatto e morto. No, the man who made them died. C’e nessuno altro. There’s no one else.” In a country bound by tradition, this was a sad state of affairs. We considered our options.

Well, Borgo San Lorenzo is a more rural town, we thought so let’s try there. We drove the 30 minutes north and went into a mesticheria called Guidotti. They had nothing, but the clerk phoned her friend in nearby Vicchio. Nothing there either. Hmmm. We went around the corner to the legnaia, woodshed and asked. They had baskets but not what we were looking for. We asked for suggestions. They had none.

The real McCoy

Ah, what about an antique shop? We might find a couple of oldies there. So the next morning, we headed in the opposite direction to one of our favorites. He had two. They weren’t for sale. What? How can you have merchandise in an antique shop that isn’t for sale. He explained that antique dealers often rent items to each other. It helps them change the look of their shop without really having to add inventory. So the two baskets were there, rented from a buddy, to create more atmosphere. And he told us that the baskets that we were looking for have a proper name, gerle (pronounced jer-lay). Okay, we finally knew what we were looking for by name, but we still didn’t know where to find them.

But . . . we can be very determined. We bought a couple of handled baskets, just to be on the safe side and then reconsidered our remaining options. We had already planned to be in Florence on Monday, so we’d snoop around.

Damiano outside his shop

We went into a sweet “little” mesticheria. Of course they didn’t have gerle, so we finally got smart. There were two older gentlemen immersed in conversation together. Let’s evaluate: 2 old locals, in a classic old hardware store. If ANYBODY would know, they would. So we excused our interruption, “Scusate, Signori. Conoscete se c’e un negozio che vendere gerle? Excuse us. Do you know if there is a shop that sells gerle?” As is so typical in Italy, they immediately stopped their conversation and told us to follow them. The four of us stepped outside the door and the fellow in the plaid wool cap began gesturing and pointing. He told us that there’s a shop, just around the corner that sells canestri, baskets. It seemed too easy.

All kinds of baskets

So we walked a few meters and there on the right, we could see baskets hanging in a shop window. The place was packed with all types of baskets. “Ma avete gerle? But do you have gerle?” we asked. “Si, ma solo uno. Yes, but only one.” Hmmm. Our new friend Damiano explained that the gerle were hard to come by since he only knew one man in the mountains near Pisa who still weaves them. And, the elderly gentleman refuses to deliver them into Florence, so Damiano occasionally takes his truck into the countryside to retrieve the one or two he’s finished weaving. On that Monday, Damiano had only one.

Success at last!

But, he also had a camouflage fabric covered one, that he said was especially good for putting on bicycle handlebars for shopping, since it was covered. “Ma loro sono uguale, But they are the same, right?” “Si, sono uguale. Yes, they’re the same.” So we paid 10 extra euro for the protective covering and took our 2 precious gerle home. I removed the camouflage covering and wove a strap under the bottom of the basket to make it almost exactly like the other.

Green gold

So, perseverance pays off! Now, as soon as the rain stops and Giacomo calls, we’re definitely ready. I can almost taste the new green oil as I write this story. Sweet and spicy. Fresh and peppery. Green gold. Ahh, Italia!

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music—Virtual CD

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

In Touch in Tuscany

Vespa Festa

What’s all the buzz about?

Truly a classic

In Italy, there are quite a few classic designs as you know: a red Ferrari, Ferragamo shoes, a Venetian gondola, a Gucci bag, an Armani suit, Bulgari watches and more. Yet in the midst of these high priced items, there are other classics. More “ordinary” and utilitarian. Like the ever-popular Vespa motor-scooter.

That unmistakable name

That’s right, the Vespa. Everyone knows its classic lines: the cursive underlined name, starting low on the left and ending a bit higher on the right-hand side; the prominent flared leg fenders; the flat foot board; Italy-inspired colors, like Espresso and Portofino Green. But in addition to the very recognizable look of the Vespa, another obvious feature is the sound. Supposedly, when the original design was unveiled in 1946 to owner Enrico Piaggio, he exclaimed, “Sembra una vespa! It seems like a wasp!” In that moment, the shape, combined with its familiar buzz gave the Vespa its famous name.

Piazza Mino

A few weeks ago we were passing through the town of Fiesole. We often go that way since it sits right smack dab on the main road to everywhere for us. Once through the first Piazza Garibaldi, we dropped into Piazza Mino, where the narrow town widens a bit. That’s where activities usually take place, and that Sunday morning was no exception.

Stopover in Fiesole

As we rolled into Mino, we were greeted with a burst of color. There, lining 2 sides of the piazza were dozens of classic Vespas. They were every color imaginable, parked in row after row. Beautiful! I had read that there were Vespa Clubs, even by 1952 the clubs boasted over 50,000 members. Today there are over 50 clubs in as many countries. Wow! Who would have ever thought that little scooter could inspire such loyalty and enthusiasm.

Take a spin in the side car

I got out of the car to snap a few quick pictures, because for us the bikes are sculpture. The riders were decked out in their best road-worthy duds, all looking quite spiffy and more than willing to be photographed. There were bikes with side cars. There were bikes with custom paint jobs. There were vintage models. Apparently, we were face-to-face with nothing less than a Vespa Festa! It seemed that all 20 regions of Italy were represented. Each club had its own sticker to indicate where that particular bike called home. We were fascinated. So we explored further.

Lucca fire truck

In a fit of spontaneity, we drove to the nearby town of Pontedera, which is about 10 km outside of Pisa and just off the FI-PI-LI (another Italian classic, the Firenze-Pisa-Livorno superstrada). There on a blustery Friday afternoon we visited the Museo Piaggio—home of the Vespa. We saw bikes and trucks of all kinds that the Piaggio Company had designed and put on the road over the decades. One of my favorites was a fire truck from Lucca. It looks like something that you’d see in a Marx Brothers movie. The “cab” of the truck is the classic Ape (pronounced ah-pay), which is really just a boxy cab built around a scooter. Rather than a steering wheel, they actually have handle bars.

"Workhorse" Ape

Because the Ape is really a Vespa dressed in truck clothing, it only has 3 wheels. They’ve actually kept the scooter design on the front and then added a little, and I do mean little truck bed. However, it was the perfect design solution that put Italy back to work and on the road to recovery after the war. They needed ways to easily get back into the tiny towns to rebuild them. Ape translates to bee, and they were definitely post-war busy bees in their miniature trucks—and still are!

Sounds like fun?

Do you notice that there seems to be a buzzing insect theme here? But it really all comes down to just one thing. Italians love a classic vehicle—whether it’s a Ferrari, an Ape, or a Vespa. And that’s what all the buzz is about.

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music—Virtual CD

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

In Touch in Tuscany

And they call the wind . . .

Mariah

“Way out west they have a name for rain, and wind, and fire.
The rain is Tess, the fire’s Joe
And they call the wind Mariah.”

Sweet. Personal.

You'd be cold too!

In these parts of Tuscany, we call the wind, il vento. That is, until we are just about blown away with the powerful Tramonti, winds from the mountains. You might think that name could be an exaggeration, but the mountains where the winds originate are the Alps, so Tramonti is a good name for them. A perfect name.

When these winds kick up, there are some predictable characteristics. The winds are very cold, strong, and biting— they have such force that smaller trees can become more horizontal than vertical, and the limbs on the old stalwarts wave continuously to create a constant rustling/whistling sound. And to top it off, we can count on the winds to be relentless for three to four days!

My Tramonti gloves

The Tramonti are so strong and cold that they can blow clothes right off the rack without drying them. I put a couple of pillow cases on the standino, drying rack this morning, of course using clothes pins. One hour later, I found them in the rose bush—pins still attached. They were still wet and very cold indeed. It’s the kind of cold that hurts your fingertips. Brrr! So I bought a pair of those gloves with open fingers.  Even though my fingers are exposed for working on the computer and stuff like that, the gloves at least give me the illusion that my hands are warm and that my fingertips are NOT going to fall off. Eventually, I had to bring the pillowcases in and put them in the dryer. But the dryer has a mind of its own and perceived them to be dry. It apparently CAN’T tell the difference between very cold and almost dry. But I can!

Fruit on the tree, where it should be

Since we live very near a ridge line, the wind whistles through the trees non-stop during its days of visitation. It sounds like the ocean is just outside, churning and crashing away, even though it’s only the limbs waving and the leaves dashing about. The Tramonti frequently rips the leaves from their branches, but only after they’re twisted and tortured into submission. Yesterday I picked up some late fruit from under the tree out front. Today, the yard is full again. You know how it is here—we can’t leave any fruit on the ground, even if it’s not quite ripe. That would only bait the wild boar, and that’s far worse than the cold winds. (You might want to check out the previous story called “I Don’t Want to Boar You“.)

Wind rustling through the leaves on the ridge

We just finished day 2, so we wonder which it will be—one more day, or two more? Several days ago, we went for a walk and I was wearing a light sweatshirt which was plenty warm. Today, I’m wearing that same sweatshirt inside the house, and our walk required a heavy jacket and a hat for starters. And definitely not a hat with a brim. Oh, no! That’s just tempting the Fates. That would be the equivalent of wearing a Frisbee on my head, perched for take-off. No, it will either have to fit snugly on my head, or maybe even be one that securely fastens into place with a chin strap. And it absolutely must have ear coverage. The winds cut through my ears like a dog whistle. The wind chill at times surely approaches freezing. You’d imagine everything to be nearly frozen. But no! Swirling in the Tramonti are whatever living spores, seeds or airborne germinating fluff  that happens to be within 100 kilometers, seeking my inner ear in which to set up residence.

Our anti-Tramonti kit

So, as you can tell, the winds can be something of a menace or at least a significant nuisance. Other than their Italian name Tramonti, the winds don’t have a cute little human name like Tess or Mariah. But we could give them one. How about Henry or Frank? How about Janet or Linda? Brrr. How about handing me another blanket?

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music—Virtual CD

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

In Touch in Tuscany

I Don’t Want to Boar You . . .

Yes, they’re at it again. The cinghiale, wild boar that live in our neighborhood.

Night visitor

Last week we discovered a few of those husky monsters early in the morning rooting around in the yard and up on the hillside just behind the house. At first, we tried not to scare them because we have always found them to be fascinating. Then it dawned on us: they weren’t just interesting critters—they were inadvertently tearing up the yard while scrounging for something to eat. Preferably something juicy because water has been scarce this year. We made some noise and off they went, at least 8 of them. But where?

Hole in the fence?

There was no hole in the fence (that we knew of). Hmmmm. Oops, we discovered that the gate had been left open. That must be how they got in. But the curious thing was how they went out. We concluded it was NOT back through the open gate. So we bought some foul-smelling “liquid fence” to spray around the perimeter. Their snouts are really sensitive and also quite finicky about certain odors. If they’re offended in any way, they just turn around and go somewhere else to do their rummaging.

It seemed to work for a couple of weeks and then it rained. That nasty smell had been watered down, so they ventured back for a late night snack. Our place must be pretty yummy.

Boar-Be-Gone

We really enjoy the animals around here, even the cinghiali. But those guys and their families were quickly becoming persistent pests. So we sprayed a wider swath of Boar-Be-Gone to further dissuade them, and what do you think happened? They went somewhere else. And where might that be? We didn’t know, but we were glad they were gone and it appeared that our boar challenge was over.

That next night, we enjoyed our dinner inside, since there was a crisp fall chill in the air. Afterward I ambled over to check email before doing the dishes. There was NO signal. What?! Our only connection to the outside world is through the internet. Oh well, we decided to check later, since those things are sometimes self-healing. But nothing.

Lovely antennae to catch strong signals

The next morning, we still had no internet connection, so we had to make one of those dreaded calls to the service provider. He assured us that the problem was NOT with their equipment, but with ours. Of course! The next step was to check the antenna. Yes, I said the A word. In this high-tech world, we must still use an antenna to pick up the signal. If it rains, there’s an interruption. If there’s an especially gusty wind, there’s an interruption. So, we walked toward the antenna zone to check things out.

Nothing happens without the Bullet 5

Imagine our surprise, when we found our “Bullet 5” on the ground. That little electronic device is the brain of our system. And our brain was lying there in pieces in the dirt. But why? How? It didn’t take long to figure out. Since the boar couldn’t scrounge in our yard anymore, they’d gone nosing around in the electronics zone. Their rooting had pulled up the antenna cable. And then, with one swift turn of a massive, tusked head, our communication lifeline was jerked from its receptacle. Our precious Bullet 5 was broken.

So we reported the sad findings to our service provider. To make sure that he really understood, we called our neighbor and asked her to give him a quick call to make certain we were on the road to connectivity. She was most helpful and called right away. But between the two of them, they concluded that her husband already had a spare Bullet 5 somewhere in the house. Woo-hoo! But, he was out-of-town for 2 days. Uh-oh.

Bullet 5 in position

Well, never mind. We’d just go buy a replacement part—timing was important. When we asked for their business hours, there was hesitation. The decision was already made. There was nothing more to do. There was no way that we were going to buy the replacement. They didn’t understand our willingness to take matters into our own hands. That’s not how things are done around here. So now, it’s the end of the second day and we’re standing at the window, like children  waiting for their father to come home.

Why? Well, it all comes back to our spraying of Boar-Be-Gone around the fence line. Not exactly the end result we had in mind. We went from being BOAR-ED, to being BORED! Maybe the company that makes the horrible smelling spray needs to list on the label a “side effect:” May cause the undesired migration from one area to another one close by. Just one more life lesson in the law of unintended consequences.

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music—Virtual CD

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

In Touch in Tuscany

Becoming Real

Pinocchio and Jiminy: Disney-style

The Adventures of Pinocchio is a classic, right? Disney put the marionette on the big screen in 1940 and Jiminy Cricket became an overnight success. But the real story is from Italy, Tuscany, to be exact. It actually symbolically represents Italy, as it grew into a unified country.

So we decided to read the book, first penned by Carlo Collodi in 1883—in its original language, as they say—Italian. Little did we know that our simple decision would be such a task. We decided to read one chapter a day. Pretty good, right? Well, no, when you consider that the average chapter is only about 5 pages long, and that includes pictures!

Our Pinocchio kit

Here’s our routine: we have an English version that we keep handy to check our translations; we have an Italian version in which Emerson writes copious notes (definitions, idiomatic phrases, verb forms etc.); I also have the original Italian version on an iPad; together, we use 2 dictionaries and one verb book; and finally, we access a translator online called, My Translator. Once we have our pile of books, pencils, erasers and various accoutrements, we begin just after lunch each day.

Pinocchio fully notated

Emerson reads the chapter title, for example, Pinocchio è derubato delle sue monete d’oro e, per gastigo, si busca quattro mesi di prigione. Translation: Pinocchio is robbed of his coins of gold and, for punishment, is put in prison for four months. Now, we think this is more than a regular title. A title is something like, “A Day at the Beach.” You know, there’s some over-arching topic that captures the essence and your attention. But the Pinocchio chapter titles are spoilers. They tell you what happens BEFORE you read it. Then Collodi goes into all the details of how the chain of events took place, but you already know the poor marionette is going to prison.

In the pokey

The other thing about the title is that we look up nearly every word. For example, Derubato. Oh, it’s a verb and this is the past tense. Okay. Monete. Oh, coins. D’oro. This is a common contraction. The word di means of. When it’s placed before a word that begins with a vowel, you leave out the i because, heaven forbid you put two vowels together. Okay, got it. Di oro = d’oro = of gold. Well, you get the picture. Every chapter is a language lesson as well as a lesson in logic. Why would Pinocchio go to prison? He was robbed. Well, the logic here is that if you’re foolish enough to be duped, you deserve punishment. Really?!

Actually, the Italian culture and thought process is something quite unique. The stories they concoct and the way they choose to say it, are nothing short of original art—funny yet thought-provoking at the same time.

Taccini plate

When we first discovered that Pinocchio is Italian, we went to a town west of Florence called Montelupo (which means wolf mountain), where an artist named Eugenio Taccini lives and works creating unique ceramic pieces. He’s well known for his depictions of Pinocchio. In fact, he actually made pieces of artwork for each of the chapters, exploring their deep psychological meanings. It became a form of therapy for him as he dove into the hidden messages. As an Italian, he wanted to use the original story to explore the process of change and transformation. Beneath the external beauty of Italian life, love and laughter, there are many deep thinkers pondering something profound and meaningful.

Pinocchio's home town

Then we decided to make a trip a few weeks ago to Collodi, the town where young Carlo Lorenzini spent summers and from which he took his pen name. Collodi is now known as the town of Pinocchio. There are restaurants named for those in the book. There’s an amusement park for children with all things Pinocchio. But in addition, there’s an amazing hillside baroque park called Garzoni Gardens. It’s considered one of the most beautiful gardens in all of Italy. It’s another example of the paradox that underlies Italian thinking: the whimsical, childlike attitude juxtaposed with the heady formal, compelling, meticulously planned.

Pinocchio the real boy

So we’re on chapter 21 in the book. My bookmark only jumps a few pages a day. But, for the first time, I’m beginning to understand Pinocchio on multiple levels. As you might expect, the original is much more earthy than the Disney version. He’s more real. And that’s just the wood marionette. I can hardly wait to see how the world changes when seen through the eyes of a real boy.

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music—Virtual CD

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

In Touch in Tuscany