Tirano - La Citta Delle Montagne

Tirano

...is a less pretty Italian Banff. The town is a little larger than Banff and the river that bisects it not quite as mighty as the Bow, but it has the same sort of small alpine feel, and  a river running through it. In fact, when I stood on one of the bridges that arched over the river it was almost as if I was looking at _____ Mountain. I think the main difference is that Banff has an incredibly young feel to it and is decidedly a ski town - lots of ski/snowboard shops, cheap eats, bars and 20-something's running around.

We grabbed a quick lunch at the hotel restaurant and crushed a bottle of wine, that is ended up drinking most of, and set out exploring the town. There are many retail stores along the Main Street running through the downtown, including 3 or 4 shops proclaiming to sell authentic Valtilinese products. Naturally I had to check them all out. Nothing incredible to report back, although there was a lot of a long noodle pasta that was flavoured with blueberry stocked on all the stores' shelves.

After a bit of a caffeine boost we sniffed out the older part of the city; I have learned that this is usually the most interesting part of the city and tends to yield restaurants that cook food typical of that particular region.

The food in Tirano is significantly better than that in Banff. For dinner we had an assortment of cheeses and cured meats from the region. A couple of e meats had a sort of "fridgy" taste to them, but aside from that everything was excellent - I had a grilled sausage and veg and Lynn, cotoletta with veg. The sausage was packed with flavour and ha ska nice tang to it which was pleasantly foiled by the copious amount of butter used to sautéed what I was hoping would be a healthy side. To say Lynn's cotoletta (Italian schnitzel) was big would be an understatement, as it took up her whole plate. It was scrumptiously crispy despite slightly burnt bottom, and was incredibly moist on the inside. Though I mused about dessert, it was probably for the best that we forwent it.

Yesterday we pretty much just puttered around town and pick up some stuff for lunch on the train as we were anticipating prohibitively expensive prices. We also stopped in to a little Osteria to check out the menu, at which point there as no one there(not a good sign),  ran a few more errands and returned only to find the place packed to the gills, all speaking Italian (the best sign). We had grilled porchetta, which is pork belly, or bacon for those of you who are a tad squeamish, that is rolled with herbs, tied and roasted til the skin is crackly-crisp. It was magnificent, with a stupendous side of roasted potatoes. We also had spatzli, which seemed to be more common the further north we traveled and understandably so, as the area we were staying in borders Switzerland. the spatzli was served with a bacon and cream sauce and was also delicious.

Cheese Babies

To pick up where we last left off - Gabri and his cheese-babies. Each one was fawned over and checked on by him like a lactic baby. He was supremely crushed when they ended up turning out anything except exactly how he envisioned they should. Even if the cheese was a delicious accident he would throw up his arms in a dramatic fashion and declare it a failure. Emotions I can completely relate to.

Gabri was pretty much the most useful WWOOFer on the farm; I don't think anyone even really thought of him as a WWOOFer as he knew pretty much all facets of the farm and farming and was capable of repairing pretty much anything on the farm. He is also an incredibly kind person.

Which is probably why he wasn't with us the day we had to shovel through a metre of horse shit. Though this may sound gross, it was not nearly as nasty as cleaning out the pigs' stall. Being tasked to take care of the animals and clean their stalls we came to appreciate some pretty odd stuff - such as the consistency and smell of a particular animals' shit. Pigs were the most vile, followed by the cows and tied for a very distant last the horses and goats. The little animals don't even count. We were also tasked with various minor construction/repair projects, which included the creation of a garden, fence repair and the beginnings of a mini greenhouse for herbs. Since I was terrified of shop class in junior high and have never done anything with a hammer but destroy things, it felt incredible to be creating something and actually doing repairs. (Granted I did smash my finger with the hammer hard enough to make it spurt a flowing geyser of blood).

Stefano and his partner Alice are both from the Bergamo area and both had past careers having to do with animals prior to starting the farm. Stefano was a vet and Alice, a dog trainer and breeder. Stefano also happened to be a very good cook, teaching me quite a bit about the. Bergamaschi kitchen and allowing me to help out on Sundays at lunch n their restaurant doing cheese plates. Did I mention how blindingly delicious the cheeses are?
Alice kept a much lower profile and we didn't really get to know her as well. We pretty much knew she has a pack of various dogs and had very strong opinions about food.

Our last day on the farm was a couple of days ago, and though we were sad to leave, it also feels nice to be on the road again, travelling and seeing some new towns and scenery. Afterall isn't travel about just that?

Ciao for now,

Matt & Lynn

The Happy Farm

...no seriously, it's actually called The Happy Farm - the translation of Fattoria Della Felicita. And it more than lives up to its name: there are dogs galore, from the tiny whirling dervish-like Jack Russell who has managed to squirm her way into my heart, to the big lumbering dopey eyed Burmese mountain dog to the two hyper-energetic Australian shepherd sisters. Actually, they have all managed to find a special place in our hearts, right next to the real estate occupied by our main canine companion, Hugo!! (We have a video of him on the iPad we watch a couple of times per week).

 The view here is more than incredible, and reminds me of when I lived in Banff in a valley nestled into the mountains. I never tire of the view, and find my mind wandering, seeking routes up the mountain in a mental attempt to try and scale it. I can almost feel the unexpected chill on my face and being completely unable to sign my name in the log book due to said cold the time I managed to scale a mountain in Banff with a ragtag band of misfits from work (the restaurant, not the bank). 

The work is incredibly taxing in terms of the physicality of it, but at the end of the day it is so rewarding. You feel that kind of full body drain you can only feel when you have pushed every muscle to its limit and your complete inability to peel yourself from the chair you're sitting in is all that's preventing you from going to bed about 4 hours early. The funny thing is, I can't even explain why it is so rewarding, I just know that I find myself with an ear to ear grin at least once a day - whether it's when I scratch behind the injured goats ears and he tilts his head back into it like a dog and smiles (I've named him Cervantes) or when Adam (Czech WWOOFer) was completely butchering the Italian language in a hilariously self deprecating way at the dinner table (No problemo, Italiano!) or hacking through a metre of horse shit with the 4 other WWOOFers or pulling up weeds, looking up at the mountains and the surrounding farm and thinking, "This is it. I'm actually in Italy. I'm literally living my dream"

The farm is run by a couple named Stefano and Alice, a veterinarian and dog trainer respectively, who have only been farming for the past 10 years or so, but completely love what they do. In addition to being a farmer and vet, Stefano just happens to run a restaurant on the farm that is open 3 days of the week. He is no slouch in the kitchen, cranking out classic Bergamaschi dishes along side a young cook named Mauro, who is very keen to get out of Italy and do some travelling. Cheeses made. On the Farm by another WWOOFer called Gabri is sold both as part of an antipasto platter and in tiny wheels. He has been with Stefano and Alice for a number of months now and isn't really showing. Ny signs of wanting to move on. 

Gabri is from a small town just outside of Bergamo and is incredibly impassioned about cheese. I have found that this is a very common trait among Italians, and have noticed it with our hosts or people on the farm. There is a reverence for food in Italy that I have never seen before. Gabri has churned out some delicious cheeses - fresh goat cheeses (which he has to actually go out and milk the goats by hand for), aged cow milk cheese, fresh ricotta, a semi soft cheese called formagella which his does with both goat and cows milk. There is another one I am forgetting, but they are all delicious. I have taken a particular shining to the ones that are aged. They are decidedly not for the faint of heart, but have a distinctly nutty and kind of fruity flavour with a texture very similar to Parmigianno Regianno. I have helped him make various cheeses a number of times now, and it's amazing to watch and participate in every time. Every step is taken with diligent care, instruments washed prior to use, and executed as if he were performing a delicate task with a baby farm animal - a look of total concentration yet enjoyment visible on his face. And he is incredibly excited if anyone is interested in his process, getting you to jump in pretty much immediately to help out. If you ask he will even get you to help him milk the cows and goats. 

That all consuming fatigue is starting to swallow me, so we will continue with Gabri and the rest of the cast tomorrow.

ciao for now!!!

Mara

Mara and The Olives

We didn't really know what the expect from the second farm we were about to experience; all we knew was that she loved animals, was vegetarian and owned an olive grove.

Mara is kind of like an olive: she may leave a bitter taste in your mouth the first couple of encounters, but once you are exposed to her enough, it turns out she is sweet, incredible and nuanced in ways you didn't previously recognize. She is disorganized to the nth degree, forgetting her keys, or wallet or some bib or bob religiously. She drives an olive green Fiat, which I think was a completely intentional decision, my compatriots not so much. She has no time for bullshit, which sometimes comes across as being pretty abrasive, She drives like an Italian, which is to say like a maniac, especially if she's late for an olive pressing. She will nurture you and conjure up some homeopathic cure if you have a cough, a sniffle or a frog in your throat. She loves to laugh, hang out eating freshly roasted chestnuts around her hearth, chatting about politics or horses or her next big adventure.

And she loves olives. I have never seen someone so singularly dedicated to something in my life. Her day revolves around time in the field, and most appointments seem to be scheduled accordingly. If there are olives on the trees, Mara is there to make sure they find their way into a waiting olive-net. She is fiercely proud of her olives and her oil, telling you with a smile about the time she won 1st prize in an annual olive oil competition in Romagna, and may even produce the card with the judges tasting notes and scores...provided she can find it. The oil IS magnificent, the best I have tasted. It is emerald green, not army green, yellow or any other color. Tell Mara about the oil used back home and she is liable to scrunch up her face, stick out her tongue and "blech!" This year's oil, that we tried about an hour after it was pressed, tasted very grassy and slightly peppery in the finish. It may seem strange talking about olive oil as you would wine, but this stuff has subtleties and notes much like a good glass of wine. Ask Mara if you should use it for cooking and she may very well punch you in the face.

Lynn and I were fortunate enough to accompany Mara to the press one evening, while the other WWOOFers went home to gorge on meat (Mara is vegetarian, but allowed the others to cook meat that particular evening). I think this is when the real bond was forged between us - she saw that WWOOFing was not just about having a place to crash and food for free for Lynn and I; that we cared about the product enough that we passed up this evening of meaty madness and wanted to learn as much as we as we could about olive oil and the process. The olives are first washed and picked through (depending on how scrupulous the oil producer is) for things like snails and large sticks. They make their way up a little olive escalator (not the technical term) and from what I could gather have any errant leaves whisked off by machine and the pits removed. They are then milled into this gross, brown sludge by a giant corkscrew and finally passed through a centrifuge to separate oil from water. Total time for the amount of olives we bring in, which is typically 800kg or so: about 3hours.

When the press guy Marco crunched the numbers for the amount of litres yielded, Mara was ecstatic, clapping her hands and hugged us. 13%, the best anyone got that day. She'll be happy to get over 200L from her olives this year, since that's how much friends have already ordered from her. At 10 euros per litre, she'll make over 2000 euros. Taking into account the month or two spent pruning the trees, the cost of supplies to nourish the trees and pay for the press, and resources to pick the olives, she really doesn't get much back... But she does it anyway.

The Olives

In mid-October we were finally back volunteering on a farm. The one we went to was a small B&B / farm, run by one woman (Mara). The B&B was a former mill, where we all stayed, and every day we drove to her olive fields in another location. That's what we were there for - the olive harvest! There was us, Mara, and three other WWOOFers. Nicky and Janice, 50-some year olds from London, and Martin, a young cook from Germany.

Mara had over 200 olive trees, which we mostly got through in two weeks. It was fairly easy work, with the routine of laying down nets under the tree, then using plastic rakes to comb all the olives off the branches ideally to fall onto the nets. We'd make a couple of trips around the tree to get all the branches, including climbing up the middle (only a couple of metres high) and using longer and electronic rakes (dubbed "the rattlesnake"). When the trees with nets were done, the nets were gathered up and the olives put into crates, which we hauled into the garage every day. At lunch time, we'd gather around a rickety table and eat a picnic, usually a cold pasta or rice dish. Most days were sunny, and the view (especially from up a tree) was off beautiful rolling green hills, with the Adriatic Sea on the horizon.

The days that were rainy were our days off. The first of these was a lot of fun, since the other WWOOFers had cars and took us all to a few scenic towns. We also had a massive lunch together with lots of local specialty foods, including strozzapretti ("the priest strangler", pasta spitefully served to a greedy priest). Anyway, our harmony with the other WWOOFers sadly deteriorated a fair bit by the end of two weeks. They started to complain a lot about the work, muttering about Mara's decisions, and even often bringing up the lack of meat, though the farm was advertised as fervently vegetarian. In the end, the difference in us and them endeared us to Mara more ("you are the true WWOOFers!") and we parted very warmly.

We did also get to watch the olives get turned into oil at a local press, but I think Matt described that for another post.

Bergamo

Our final visit before we started up on farms again was Bergamo, home of the pastas scarpinocc and casonsei. Being a city in the north of Italy, polenta was also in plentiful supply. We arrived on time, but were greeted by our airbnb host late and with the news of our accommodations not actually being where they were stated on the website. After a 15 minute journey even further away from the city we arrived at our palace and immediately decided to find some dinner.

While searching for a place that served authentic cucina povera we meandered straight into an international (mostly) food market - German sausages, Greek gyros, Italian piadine, deliciously pillowy salty yet somewhat sweet pretzels, roast pork, amazing ginger snaps, beautiful handmade wooden products for the kitchen, PORCHETTA, artisanal sausages both dry and fresh with the farmer cutting off slices giving them to people to try, tiroli being boiled and fried right before your eyes and so much more. We opted for a plate of roast pork with roasted veg in drippings. As the trend seems to be in Italy, the veg stole the show. So deliciously sweet from the slow caramelization, yet salty, sweet and packed full of meaty from the (you guessed it) roasting pork.

Fast foward to the following day: we fuel up on cappuccino and pastry and beeline it to a little one way tram ,that takes you to the Upper City, called the Funicolare. (Who put the "fun" in Fun-i-co-lare?!). Once up there we leisurely strolled around the stone streets, taking in the old buildings and Italian-ness of it all. Upon entering a typical piazza we decided to check out a basilica, as Italy typically has at least one per city and they rarely disappoint. This one far exceeded any expectations I have had for any of these ornate structures. There was so much beautiful art all over the place. It was as if a medieval tattoo artist was let loose on a church and just told to go wild. Murals on the roof bled into each other, albeit it in a very cohesive manner, and statues dotted the church. It was a lot. It was too much to take in. Ocular overload in a magnificently glorious way.

Once our eyes had recovered and brain caught up processing what we had seen we decided on lunch. Much debate ensured, but we settled on a pretty nondescript looking cafe that served one of Bergamo's beloved pastas: CASONSEI. Now going into this I was determined to discern the difference between scarpinocc (Bergamo's other most well known pasta) and casonsei. From what I thought scarpinocc was supposed to resemble a shoe (scarpe), but as it panned out and we visited more and more pasticcherias, it appeared casonsei also bore a strong resemblance to a shoe. Working up the guts to try and butcher my way through an Italian sentence I asked a few people what the difference is. The response: the filling. They all said that the shape is interchangeable, but casonsei will always have a meat filling; scarpinocc, a cheese based one. Our casonsei was sensational. It was accompanied by a locally brewed stout, which again was magnificent. As it turns out, the craft beer game in Bergamo is exceptionally strong. That tiny city is churning out some delicious beers. Moretti and Peroni move over, there's a shitload of NKOTB.

The afternoon was spent trying to avoid sporadic bouts of rain. We sought shelter in what we thought was the Botanical Gardens, but turned out to be a children's playground. Either we can't read or the sign was so very wrong.

Skip to dinner and we find ourselves once again in Citta Alta at a restaurant with copper pots, swords and medieval kitsch hanging all about. We had what we would find to be very common dishes in the north of Italy  (and delicious at that): polenta and roasted meat, and polenta and braised meat.

Besides studying the local pastas, we also did some shopping in Bergamo. On a fair weather day, we  took the train to Lake Como, one of Italy's largest and most famous lakes. When we got to Como we  pretty much hopped right on a ferry, to enjoy the lake. The trip up the lake and back ended up taking  up most of the afternoon, but we did fit in a stop in the town of Bellaggio, and got a good look at George Clooney's multi-million dollar lakefront property. The last train of the day to Bergamo was then caught with enough time for Matt to first stop on the way to get a high five from a giant hand statue.

The remainder of our time in Bergamo was comprised of pretty much exploring Citta Bassa and returning to Citta Alta to eat. A delicious and beautiful city!!

Florence

The flight we had back from San Sebastián landed in Pisa, where we spent part of a day first walking around before taking a short train ride to Florence. Nothing stood out too much about Pisa, besides the swarm of tourists around the leaning tower. Matt expressed the desire to go up to one of the people doing the pose for a picture pretending to hold up the tower, and high five their extended hand. Fortunately we witnessed another guy do that.

We stayed in Florence for something like 9 days. Time went towards finding decent Tuscan restaurants (almost all catered to and were full of tourists), and some time was also eaten up recovering from a bad cold, on my part. But around the city, we walked around a lot, went in the duomo and up the attached tower, to a Leonardo da Vinci museum (re-creations of his machines), to the city food market, and around the leather market. One of our first days was on a pre-booked day tour, which took us on a bus to Siena, montecino, montepulciano, piensa, and the val d'orcia. Brown empty fields weren't quite what I expected when I earlier saw photos of the lush green valley online, but I guess we went at the wrong time of year. The tour also stopped at a winery specializing in brunello. Matt didn't get the full experience, being on antibiotics and unable to have any samples, but he did get a kick out of the 80 year old Italian owner who kissed and pinched cheeks of the women on the tour. Another day, we navigated confusing bus routes and took a trip to San Gimignano, the medieval New York City with several towers in its centre. Overall the sites in Tuscany were very picturesque but completely overrun by tourists. In fact we found the scenery of Molise around Giovanni's farm to be more stunning. We had some good Tuscan food though. (Bistecca alla fiorentina, ribollita, trippa alla fiorentina, polpette, etc)

Venice

After Florence we stayed in Venice for 3 days with an airbnb host who was a poet/author, who met up with us on our way in to help navigate down the narrow maze-like streets to his apartment (which smelled of fish, but was right on a canal). The highlight of our visit was Burano, a smaller (quieter) town accessible by water bus that was full of very pretty, brightly painted houses of all different colours. It's known for its lacemaking, and besides a picnic we spent most of our time looking through shops. While in Venice, Matt made a point of trying cicchetti, but our favourite culinary activity was to take bread, cheese and fruit, and eat them on an empty dock on the grand canal at sunset. Besides a fishing boat coming into dock (slamming into it) then leaving, it was very peaceful. We also made it into several Asian tourists' photos, who thought us picturesque as they were driven past on gondolas.

Bologna

 8 days back in bologna provided us with a bit of a reprieve from the packing-unpacking-packing routine we had been enduring every 3 days or so. Even though we had ended up in Bologna unexpectedly previously, we were overjoyed to return to our favourite Italian city and it's dense population of doxies and delicious eateries. While we were there Matt's parents visited and time was spent going to a greatest hits of restaurants we had previously discovered. So basically the week was just lots of delicious food. It was also a nice break, since our airbnb lodgings was an entire apartment to ourselves.

Bergamo

Our final visit before we started up on farms again was Bergamo, home of the pastas scarpinocc and casonsei. Being a city in the north of Italy, polenta was also in plentiful supply. We arrived on time, but were greeted by our airbnb host late and with the news of our accommodations not actually being where they were stated on the website. After a 15 minute journey even further away from the city we arrived at our palace and immediately decided to find some dinner. After much searching we settled on a cafe

Mia Familgia Bolognese

The ladies of the pasta lab are as varied as the pasta we make, and I love it - the regulars include a woman from the Mountains in the north of Italy, quick to provide humor when tensions start to run a little high; there is a Sicilian, who is able to roll pasta faster than any machine I have seen; a Bolognese woman (I think) who can bang out prep faster than the speediest of prep cooks, a maternal figure who kept the kitchen in line, and of course there are the nonnas - the matriarchs of the lab, those whose word is pretty much a decree from Pasta Jesus Christ Almighty, to be obeyed and not contended.

It's from these lovely ladies that I have been learning everything I could possibly need to know about pasta - from the finicky but inexplicably beautiful art of rolling pasta by hand (fatto a mano), to traditional fillings and of course, classical shapes. They make it all look easy. Way easier than it actually is. It took me 2 full days to figure out how to properly shape a tortellino. When I asked why mine were tall and slender and theirs were squat and fat, I was met with the reply, "Pasta is made differently by different people. It's a Matt tortellino!" Not quite satisfied with the answer, and being the obsessive person I am, I took to that most valuable of resources: YouTube. After watching 2 minute long videos of tortellini tutorials, I resigned myself to the Matt tortellini being adequate...for now, as there was an English speaking woman coming in the next day. She would surely be able to help, as that damn language barrier would be completely smashed to bits!!!

Unfortunately her response wasn't much different, so it was back to the book...errr...YouTube. Frustration. More questions. Answers. No progress. Progress. Perfect! Then I left for three weeks and promptly forgot it all. It took me another 2 days to figure it out upon returning, again with the aid of videos that were actually moving at a tempo I could grasp this time. Success!!

Floating high on cloud nine, I happily asked one of the ladies if I could try rolling the sfolgia (the pasta dough in sheet form) the following day. She agreed, and it was a disaster. The process of rolling the sfolgia, when done right, is one of the most fucking gorgeous things I have ever seen. It probably doesn't hurt that there is sunlight constantly streaming in through large floor-to-ceiling windows all day (May have a different vibe in a prep dungeon). It consists of a few stages (and about 3 rolling techniques that have different pressures and hand positions applied) which I will attempt to explain:
1) dimpling the dough yo - just like starting a homemade pizza
2) stretch it - short little stutter rolls with pressure applied from above
3) roll it - always from the middle with a bit of the dough hanging over the edge, pushing the mattarello (giant rolling pin) from behind
4) even out edges using the same rolling technique as in 2)
5) even out middle with the third rolling technique. I have no idea how to describe this one.

There's the whole issue of getting a pasta sheet to an even thickness using the above method, but there are other obstacles you could encounter should your mind start to wander:

If you don't have enough flour it sticks to the pin and/or the work surface. Either way it sucks, and even after gentle pulling and blowing on it in a last ditch effort to loosen the now flypaper-like dough from itself it may very well rip. Lost dough is heartbreaking, not only because so much work goes into making it and rolling it, but also because this method (fatto a mano) minimalizes dough loss to a fraction of why I have seen.
Too much flour and the dough will be, or worse, will crack when you try to fold it into the shapes.

Today (my last day until January), I rolled what I thought was a pretty great sheet, albeit so slowly someone else had to complete it. Time was of the essence and I am still very much at the stage where I am prioritizing proper technique over speed. I have bought my own mattarello to practice on the farms though. Hopefully once I retune home I'll be able to give those hand crank machines arum for their money!!'

Til next time. Ciao!!

After we left Naples, we were in Spain (San Sebastian) for 4 days. Flights are pretty cheap booked ahead of time. And, though the original point was to do a side trip to a 3 Michelin star restaurant Matt was interested in (Mugaritz, #6 best in the world), San Sebastián is also a very nice beach town in Basque country with lots of tapas/pintxos (ie finger food) bars. Our airbnb host spoke no English, but we got by by typing and pointing at google translate on our phones. Most of our time in San Sebastián was spent walking around, and looking out on the water. There are 2 long stretches of sandy beach on the town (no real port, just small fishing boats), one where people swim, and one where they surf. We didn't swim unfortunately, since the weather was cool and rainy, more like England than I was expecting. We did spend a lot of time watching surfers, enjoying seeing both the long rides in on the waves and the wipeouts.

The pintxos also drew our attention. At first we were a bit confused, since in a bar the entire counter top is full of plates with little bites on them - sausage, cheese, fish, seafood, many on bread or on sticks. The system seemed to vary from place to place, but the idea is to graze on the food while you have a drink (and then pay for it - some even just asked how many you ate). Another fun part of that experience is when you've finished with a napkin or stick, it's totally cool to just chuck it on the ground under the bar. Anyway, not a lot of vegetables were consumed on that trip.

I think my highlight of San Sebastián was our trip to the town's aquarium. It was pretty cool, with a maritime history and some small tanks of fish. Those were great, but we spent almost all our time at the main tank, where numerous different fish swam around, including 2 bull sharks, a turtle, eels, rays, and other fish. The tank also had a tube built into it that you could walk through, and be surrounded on all sides. I spent some time trying to get good photos of the sharks, which rather alarmingly appeared over our heads seemingly out of nowhere. We were also there during feeding time, when 2 divers went into the tank with fish and to also clean the outer part of the tube. To help them, a guard actually walked through the tube as they worked, and pointed out the sharks as they came near. I didn't realize she was doing that until after I pointed at a ray swimming behind the diver and she whipped around to look. The sharks behaved though, and actually the turtle ended up being the jackass of the tank, trying to bite their equipment several times. Pretty interesting.

Of course, Matt's highlight was our trip to Mugaritz. It was in a nice house in the hills outside the town, with a big garden full of herbs and other edibles that you could walk through. Dinner was something like 25 courses of small (2-5 bites) dishes, presented on very unique and customised  dishes/vessels (where some of those $$s on the bill went I guess). Though it's a top restaurant in the world, it wasn't very stiff/formal, but I had to roll my eyes when one dish was presented with a quote written beside it. The author was Samuel Johnson, which Matt misread as Samuel L. Jackson.  We agreed that would have been a better choice. Besides uncertainty in a couple courses (did that cake taste like fish?) and why the toilet paper was black, we both really enjoyed the meal. I'll also summarize Matt's favourite, which were the final bites, a set of chocolates representing the 7 deadly sins. It came in a beehive shaped vessel, with each layer containing a sin. The first was pride - 2 cherry flavoured chocolates. Don't ask what that one means. Next was envy - just one chocolate, lemon flavour. After that, wrath - spicy chocolate shards. Gluttony was a whole bunch of chocolate covered corn nuts. Next was greed, which was an empty one. Matt's "favourite". After was lust - 2 rose flavoured chocolates that looked a little like breasts. Finally, sloth was a big slab of plain chocolate which took me forever to eat my share. All in all dinner took us 3 hours and we were full to the point that stomach aches were in order.

Well that brings us to our arrival in Tuscany a week ago. So, soon we will be caught up on posts!

Naples..Revisited...As In We Went Back

It seems as though whenever Lynn and I have been in Naples the Fates or the city of Naples conspires to throw a curveball our way. This time, after a sweaty train ride back from Positano and much debate on the subject of Does This Look Infected? Lynn and I decided it would be wise to maybe take a trip to the hospital. We made our way to the front desk, asking where the closest hospital was. The clerk genuinely sounded concerned, offering to call a taxi. Oh to know what was going through her head 3 hours later when we would stroll through the doors with 2 full pizzas in our hands.

I digress. We are dropped off at the hospital and we are greeted with a scene that is completely unfamiliar and a bit jarring. This is not to say that the hospital was in a state of squalor, but there may or may not have been a stray dog running around the waiting room hiding under chairs, and there may or may not have been a person smoking (first a real cigarette then an e-ciggie). There was no triage to speak of, just a table past a guarded door with a bunch of people gathered around, the nurse randomly choosing people to help. Fortunately after seeing us struggle with an explanation in Italian, a kind gentleman from the area translated everything we needed to say and we found ourselves back in the waiting room with the stray dog, the smoker and eventually a lady being escorted out into the waiting room by guards while screaming something in Italian.

My name was actually promptly called and in I went. The infection was far enough up my leg that I needed to remove my pants. Whatever, we're all professionals here, right? That WAS the case until it was decided the security guard would be the appropriate translator. So in he strode, me lying prostrate, no pants, one dong to the wind, apparently able to translate about as much English as Lynn or I would be able to with Italian. We would've been better off with the guy who helped us in triage. It would've been a lot less awkward too..I mean at least him and I shook hands.

After a diagnosis and a prescription was started, Lynn left with the guard to figure out where we could get the meds before our early morning flight. As I awaited my prescription I started to realize the doctors were having a bit of trouble translating the instructions on how to use the meds. With the security guard gone the next translator was a complete wild card. Waiting with bated breath, I was very happy to see a Danny Devito-esque fellow in hospital garb enter the room. Upon finding out I was Canadian he began regaling me with a story about how he had worked in Canada and the States in shipyards and how in the States his co workers would call him Little Chief. He didn't provide me with an explanation as to why, nor what his real name was. Little chief, whoever you are...wherever you are...thank you.

Meanwhile, Lynn followed the security guard outside the hospital and across the parking lot, at which point she realized he was looking to see if the pharmacy there was open (no). Back they went into the waiting room, where various people shouted out suggestions in Italian and one tried to get Lynn on the phone with the one English person they know. After more consultation including with another guard, Lynn got instructions to give to a taxi driver for a 24 hour pharmacy near our hotel. There was also a lot of emphasis on exactly what to say in the taxi, and who should call it "tell the front desk that Salvadore told them to call". We think this was related to the notorious Naples taxis that drive tourists in circles, and everyone's concern and kindness at the hospital was a striking contrast in the characters of Naples.

Thus ends our Neapolitan adventure. Til next time Naples.

Ciao tutti!

So we left Bologna last week and have had an eventful few days since. On the way to Positano, we decided to stop in Pompeii. I had read online you can spend a whole day exploring it, since the ruin site is the entire town, but we didn't have that luxury and did the whirlwind version. In our haste to get in there, we didn't pick up the map, so actually spent extra time walking around just trying to find the way out. Very interesting though, to see things so well preserved (including unfortunately several people who had been covered in ash). The rest of the trip to Positano was expected to be tiring, taking a sketchy Naples commuter train and from there trying to catch a bus that gets completely clogged up with pushy tourists. While we were waiting in line, a couple and their daughter from Malta approached us to split a cab to Positano. And thus began our relaxation for the next 3 days, enjoying the drive in and getting driven to the door of our B&B.

Our B&B there is run by a 4 foot, 90-something year old italian nonna called Celeste, who seems to be a local celebrity, and her husband Ferdinando runs (or now lets his sons run) one of the beach bars. At breakfast we met Celeste and actually managed to follow her speaking in italian (and getting by with the replies si, bene, and grazie). After Matt enquired about her sons' names, she sent us off with the italian version of "have fun at the beach" and a whap to Matt's butt.

That first day we spent a lot of time swimmimg in the beautiful mediterranean water, reading, eating, and walking up and down 100s of steps. Matt encouraged me not to skip seafood on his account, so I tried sea urchin, octopus, and clams. We also had caprese salad, which I never linked to nearby Capri til now. On our second full day, we went on a boat tour that took us to Capri, and stopped on the way back for some interesting grottos and swimming offshore in clear aqua coloured water. We were a little disappointed with Capri, which was overrun with tourists and overpriced... but the time on the boat was really nice. Though Positano seemed like a paradise,  I do have to mention the bizarre presence of tiny little ants overrunning many railings and exterior walls. Basically Matt's worst nightmare. We did witness Ferdinando taking care of business, standing outside the house squishing ants with the tip of his cane.

We took pictures of Positano, as it is built into the side of a cliff and incredibly striking to see. Even now though it seems unreal and a bit of a dream. Contrast that with scummy Naples, which Is where we headed to next, to get a flight. Hopefully Matt will soon write a post about THAT experience.

We haven't mentioned recently any news of our visas. Well yesterday was to be (finally) the last step and conclusion for approval to stay beyond 3 months. But, lets not be ridiculous. The visa saga continues. To recap:

In Canada in may we applied for visas. Printed off bank statements,  insurance, resumes, passport photos... after several strict requests from the embassy, we submitted the applications. Sometime later, we got them, confusingly even after we failed to show documentation of where we are first staying.

Arrival in italy, we had to "check in" at the police headquarters of the region we were in (Molise), and even with the visas we had, final approval to stay comes by applying for a permit to stay. Welcome to the nonsensical and over the top system that is italian bureaucracy.

The first trip to the police resulted in us being told in fact we have to apply for the permit at the post office, and then they give us an appointment at the police station (this was communicated slowly with lots of pointing, since the officer didn't speak any english). So off we went. At the nearest post office, we got a long rambling answer in italian which we took to mean she had no idea what form we were talking about. Back to the police station. This time someone who spoke english told us actually we can apply there, but we would need to give them an official letter or receipt for our initial accommodations in order for the permit to be approved.

Upon meeting our first farmer/host Giovanni, we realized he would not give us a letter (besides dogs he's apparently not fond of police). We decided to abandon the visas and maybe stay a fourth month in Ireland instead.

I'll skip over the time we ran around campobasso trying to at least get the permit application from a post office, and the effort to cancel the visas. Fast forward through dog abuse to our arrival in Bologna. Serendipitously, besides an extra chance for Matt to practice pasta making, 3 weeks in Bologna at an airbnb also gave us a receipt to show for accommodation proof.

So, we headed asap to the central Bologna post office and submitted our permit applications. Though the man there didn't speak much english, he accepted all our documentation and stamped out receipts and appointment sheets for our trip to the police.

Now we are caught up to yesterday, when we had our appointments. It was an anticipated big day, since once those wrere done in the morning we were headed Bologna-Naples on the train, then commuter train to Sorrento with a stop in Pompeii, then a bus to Positano onthe Amalfi coast. Anyway, at the police station there were a lot of people there to receive their permits, and the lines were speedy. We chose the line with the officer who was laughing and speaking in english. When it was our turn, we waited patiently and then he said "ok... there is an issue". Hearts sank and filled with dread. Thoughts - we can't stay; or, we have to cancel our reservations by the sea to deal with more complications. What it turned out to be what we should have come to accept - apparently for our SPECIFIC visa type, we were supposed to apply at the police station after all,  not the post office. So they hadnt received it in the mail yet. So there we go. Still ongoing. We at least are not disrupted in our plans, but we return to the police station when we're back in Bologna in October.  Fingers crossed but I wouldn't be too surprised if we have returned home by the time these things come in.

I think through dealing with these hoops we have a better understanding of how italians live than any other experience we've had.

Something on Positano coming soon!

Oh hello. It's Lynn this time. We've been in Bologna for a week now, and though this is a gastronomic capital in Italy, I thought I would make note of some non-food related details.

I'm not sure how much people have used airbnb, but we have been using it almost entirely on this trip, and it has been great to get to know local people. In Bologna, we are staying with a man called Fulvio, who rents two of his three bedrooms to visitors (we are apparently staying in his old son's room, with spiderman books piled on the bookshelf and some kind of martial arts certificate on the wall). He has been very kind, spending time in broken english telling us the top things to see in the city, and offering to help Matt in his quest for an education in pasta. The third room has been empty for most of the week, though for one night a young mother and her son visited from London. Fulvio escorted us all to a restaurant down the street, ordered for us and then left (a bit unexpectedly)... but on our return to the apartment, he gave us some of his freshly baked bread (yum) and liberally shared his bottle of grappa (yech!). Now the bedroom has been reoccupied by a younger Polish guy who seems very nice, and has offered to take us to his favourite trattoria sometime soon.

Most of our time has been occupied by 3 things - eating, walking around the city (between meals) and recuperating back at the apartment. I think the one thing we did pay money for was to take a trip up one of the two medieval towers found in the center of town, for a view over the city. One is shorter and leaning over quite a bit, while the other is twice as high and leaning only slightly. We went up the less leaning one, which involved walking up old wood steps that wrapped around the inside of the tower, up and up. A key to this experience was not looking down, which was harder on the way back down. I don't think Matt felt as daunted as I did, since while I tentatively took it step by step, he plowed his way down with little vaults at the end of each flight.

Now to be lazy I'll just finish with a few things we like about Bologna:

-the food
-the medieval streets and porticoes
-the drivers on the road here seem competent (no observations of hollering/gesturing between cars or ignoring traffic signals)
-there are tons of dogs here and we have seen at LEAST one wiener dog per day
-this is a food topic again but we were also happy to find out that Bologna is known for gelato particularly, so we have been quite willing to sample different ones daily

That's it for now. Today we had a food factory tour complete with a "light lunch" (10 full courses) which Matt will probably post about... but for now we have food hangovers.

Modena e Il Massimo

Its not every day you run into your idol/chef proprietor of the second best restaurant in the world while searching for said restaurant. Thats pretty much how it went down with Lynn and I yesterday though.

We had decided to take a day trip to Modena in search of the thick syrupy aceto balsamico tradizionale di Modena, to find Massimo Bottura's restaurant, Osteria Francesacana, and to just get out of Bologna for a day.

The train ride was all of 12euros both ways and took less than half an hour; you didn't even have enough time to look at the scenery before you were rolling into the station. Getting downtown was easy enough, but navigating the labyrinthian streets of downtown Modena is a completely different story. After finding the downtown market (where Parmigianno Reggiano and cannoli were purchased) we set out in the general direction of where we thought probably...maybe Osteria Francescana was.

Snaking our way through the streets, peeking down every alley in search of some indicator of a restaurant (there were too many closed for the summer businesses to even mention), we finally spotted a man crouched in an alleyway talking to another man, fingers in his eyes in one of those I am incredibly overtired poses, cook scooting out across the alley in an immaculate white chefs coat. I thought "This may be him, but I'm not sure, he's not wearing any glasses." Then in a sort of bizzarro Superman moment, he put his glasses on, I turned away and said to Lynn, "Holy shit!! That's him!!! That's Massimo Bottura!!!" We then did what any sensible person would do when they had the opportunity of a lifetime to meet their idol and a culinary god: do a complete about-face and walk away.

As I glanced over my shoulder I saw this guy he was talking to snap a quick photo, and in a moment I found myself in front of him spitting out the words "Sei tu Massimo Bottura? (You are you Massimo Bottura?" "Si." "Holy shit. I know youre incredibly busy, but do you mind if we got a picture with you?" "Sure!" We had anticipated one of us (OK Lynn) would be taking the picture, but Chef Bottura called one of his cooks out of the kitchen to do so. I had so many questions, but my mind was still reeling from the experience so much that I just stood there slack jawed, like a dental patient who had been given too much oral anaesthetic. He gave me a cheerful slap and the shoulder and all I could muster was a "Thank you so much!" And we were off. I did peek into the part of the kitchen that backs onto the alley and I dont know what task they were involved in, but there were cooks lined up on either side of 2 or 3 stainless steel tables, cheek to jowl engrossed in undoubtedly some incredibly meticulous mise en place that was going to blow someones mind that evening. He was incredibly kind and probably would have answered any questions I had. As we walked away all I could hear were the Foo FIghters, "There goes my hero, watch him as he goes!"


That evening we ate porcini pan roasted in the way we had enjoyed in a delightful osteria a few days prior. Four weienerdogs were also spotted whilst in Modena, one of whom gave Lynn a little Italian love. My day was complete.

Have I mentioned how much I love Italy?

I think the next post will be Lynn, commenting on all the NON FOOD related experiences we have had.

Til next time.

Ciao tutti!!!

Bologna La Grassa

We have been eating a lot of pasta since arriving in Italy - I'm not talking about a couple of portions every few days, I'm talking at least once a day for the past three weeks. So I figured I should probably get to know what has become a very close companion over the last little while.

Today started out like most since we have been in Bologna - wake up sleepily and check Facebook and Instagram, quickly realizing "Oh yeh, no one is up at 3am." Go grab an espresso at the little cafe down the street and either set out to get lost in the maze of streets surrounding Piazza Maggiore or head to a recommended or well known restaurant like a culinary heat seeking missile.

Today had a different purpose though: find a pasticceria or somewhere that makes their own pasta and apply to stage there. First on the list was the place where Thomas McNaughton cut his teeth making pasta, and what is acknowledged one of the best pasta/salumi shops in Bologna. I was daunted by the fact that he had worked there, thinking it would be just as difficult as getting into as a Michelin 3 star for a stage as it had no doubt been popularized throughout the North American cooking underground by McNaughtons mention in his book.

So up the street we walked, me completely oblivious to anything Lynn was saying (sorry), absorbed in my own little world of shortcomings and what-ifs. We walked into the shop, and I turned to the woman at the cash, asking "Avete uno momento?" "Si" I took out my little piece of paper on which I had scrawled my script in Italian. All I could think was "cuoco, cuoco, cuoco",  since I was walking down the street a couple of days prior, rehearsing what I would say and proclaimed loudly and proudly "Sono uno cucchiaio profeszionale!" ("I am a professional spoon!"). Someone was smiling down on me, cause I'm pretty sure I said "cuoco". As soon as I got past the line about being a professional cook a wide smile spread across the woman's face; she had obviously been fed this line or something like it about a million times before. She let me finish and pretty much told me they had chefs in the laboratorio for the next week "I can work the week following" I quickly said, remembering to be much more tenacious than I typically am. She quickly flipped through the calender and smiled and told me they could take me. I was drunk with a supershot of adrenaline and the caffeine from the espresso and was fist pumping and ninja kicking all over the place (once we were outside and out of view of the shop)

A celebration was in order, so we stopped at a trattoria we had spotted last night that was crammed with locals. What proceeded was one of the largest shank dishes I have eaten at a restaurant (Stinco e patate al forno) and one of the most filthy schnitzel-esque dishes I have every consumed (Colotetta - a ginormous veal cutlet breaded and fried smothered in a thick butter and parmesan sauce with bits of ham.

That pretty brings us here, to me writing this blog post in the sweltering Italian heat in my tattered skivvies. And  I'll just leave you folks with that image to percolate.

Parma on Friday!!!

Ciao tutti!

Until next time.

Mmmmm cured meats and fresh pasta

                    

Stinco e patate al forno

Cotoletta

A solid handle on effective verb, adjective, noun and adverb usage as well as a willingness to post in the buff to near buff are all skills and traits  the blogger must possess

3 For 1 - "We Gotta Get The Hell Outta Dodge"; "Roma La Bella, Roma La Magnifica"; "Bologna La Grassa, Bologna La Sontuosa"

Ok folks, so there has been a lot going on in the past 2 weeks; much of it unexpectedley, yet serendipitously perhaps for the best.

As soon as our Irish friends left the farm there was a very noticeable shift in the way things happened and what was happening - there was much more swearing, in general and at me; more rage was openly displayed and along with it was not uncommon for things to be thrown around in anger; the dogs true "training program" came to light.

I been working in kitchens for a while now and have been sworn at and have even had things thrown at/around me. It wasnt an ideal situation, as this is supposed to be a working HOLIDAY and I had no intention in entering an overly stressful situation, however if he was willing to teach me pasta I figured I could bear it. It was the "training program" that was the straw that broke camel's back. It was flat out abuse of the dogs, and it came to the point where he was comfortable enough to do it right in front of us. It completely broke my heart. I am not one to cry, but I was incredibly close as I witnessed this happening. The dog almost army crawling to him in submission as he called her over, knowing what horrific fate awaited her, him picking her up by her scruff then beating her with an open palm, her not yelping, but more crying and then him literally kicking her into her prison and laughing, The monster was LAUGHING as he went inside, ready to make dinner. Every time I think of this it causes me to recall that scene in Sin City when Marv is at the farm and sees EW's character walking down the stairs and says "Heading down for a snack, and I can guess what kind" - pure terror.

So we hopped a train to Rome the next day to get our heads straight and figure out our next move.

ROME

Prompt arrival - check, hotel - check, lunch spot locked down - check, check.

Our less than 24 hour whirlwind tour of Rome was awesome.We didnt have Rome on the itnerary and I had no interest in going back, until I went back. It is such an astounding city, most of a all to me because it is a modern metropolis built up around the ruins of an ancient city. Its so incredible that you can be walking down a street, you turn the corner and WHAM! The Coliseum (or some other bastion of ancient history)is staring you in the face in all its magnificence and glory. Or you could be walking down a main road and ruins of an ancient arena suddenly pop up beside said road. Or youre walking down a street and an ancient structure has somehow been built into the side of  a house/small apartment.
The city is so staggeringly rich in history and culture (food and coffee being my favorite) that one day was not nearly enough. We did our best though. But not until after some lunch.

We tracked down a quaint little trattoria recommended to us by a friend whom is becoming closer and closer to us these days - The Internets. I have a fantasy that we will wander whatever city we are in and fate will have us bump into the most stupendous restaurant in the city. As romantic as this sounds, I'm finding it doesnt really tend to happen unless you have an extended amount of time to track down a promising restaurant.
Lunch was magnificent, beginning with the most iconic of Roman dishes, cacio e pepe followed by rigatoni with oxtail and climaxing with a plate of caramelized onions and lamb heart and liver. The first two dishes were stunners, the cacio e pepe with a very rich flavor with a hit of minerality and punch of pepper; the oxtail a rich sauce containing a very hearty beef stock and lots of tomato. The bread provided (not free of charge in Italia) was quickly put to use to mop up all that scrumptious leftover sauce, Good Lord I could eat just the two of those dishes for the rest of my life. The mixed offal plate was a little much, as it was just a pile of offal with a load of caramelized onions. It couldve used something to cut the richness and some of the livery flavor. Well sated and wined up, we set off into the blazing sun to just wander, something I have become very fond of, as sometimes you DO find a gem of a place, plus it is great to just get off the tourist track and see the actual city.

After hammering back a coffee granita (caffeine to balance the booze - check) and a delightful lemon gelato we were actually on our way. We worked our way through narrow, snaking streets, drinking in the sun, the Italian chatter floating through the air, and the water from the 5 bottles we had stashed in my satchel. A rest at the hotel and Lynn tackling the planning for Bologna and we were back on the road, in search of La Prosciutteria and a delicious sandwich. We arrived, waited and ate. As we were waiting we saw enormous charcuterie boards zooming out of the tiny kitchen and made a quick revision in deciding to geta  board instead of sandos. Great meats and cheeses, but the accompaniments were sort of lacking. Sometimes though, the atmosphere makes up for small shortcomings in the food and this place had atmosphere to spare!! It was perfect - a young vibe, loud, and jovial. Everyone in there was having a blast, from the cooks to the people hammering back charcuterie (NO ONE had a sandwich. Maybe its more of a lunch thing)to the people sucking back drinks waiting to get in. Great evening. WIth Bologna to follow the next day

BOLOGNA

Trained in at about 530pm, met our ebullient host and had dinner. We'll just skip to the next day shall we?

Yesterday we arose, got caffeinated and pastried up and set out in search of La Piazza Maggiore, pretty much the city centre. Our very accomodating host gave us detailed instructions on how to get there, things to see and do and of course, places to eat (this IS a research trip for me). We started at what seemed to be a goods and textiles market, scoring a little Italian coffee contraption right off the bat. Bellisimo! We meandered along our route, marvelling at the architecture, the cathedrals and of course the fresh pasta on display!!! After checking out a couple of these pasticerrias I am going to try to score a 3 week stage at one to try and learn all I can about the pasta making process. When in Bologna...learn how to make pasta motherfucker!

We stopped into Tamburini, something like a much larger version of Bottega Nicastro in Ottawa to pick up some meats (read 5) and some cheeses (only 2) for our picnic today. I couldnt help myself from sampling the pristinely white, glistening lardo. It was very salty, porky and buttery. Oh so buttery. I ate more, and more and more. Not too sure how much we have left for the picnic.

After wandering around what I can only assume was food alley, we decided to return home, to rest up for dinner. Not before encountering a live street band, complete with tuba, clarnite, sax and a tiny drumset. Covers performed included the Pink Panther he Tequila Song and the theme song to Austin Powers.

Dinner was at 8 at a little Osteria about 40mins from the house and I was expecting great things, especially after the disastrous dinner from the previous evening.

It did not disappoint. I have gotten to the point where I am relatively confident ordering things in Italian, but for some reason not so at restaurants. Perhaps it is because the server may respond with a comment or question I wont understand. Three glasses of wine quickly dashed any fears I had and I was jabbering away, commenting on the deliciosity of the food left and right.

To start we had a massive platter of pan roasted porcinis, caps removed and fried and stems split and fried. It was a tad undersalted (though I an known to have a bit of a salty palate) but this being a place of no pretense there was salt and pepper readily available. A dash of salt and one of the best dishes Ive ever had was on its way to my belly. It was cooked to perfection, eating and also looking like a piece of meat. There was a grain in the stem, and when you cut into the cap, it looked like a thin chop with a tiny fatcap where the gills of the mushroom connected to the top. Jesus it was good! what was to follow was just as stunning - a ricotta and herbed tortelloni in sage butter.

 Christ was it tasty. So opulent, yet not sickeningly rich. The perfect amount of fat and richness and just the right amount of sage; not so much that it was overly sagey, but just enough that it had a strong presence. It didnt need acid. Perfect as it was.

The tagliatelle was delicious, but not as eye poppingly scrumptious as the others. We happily mopped any errant ragu bits that missed the tagliatelle train to Bellyville.

For dessert we had tiramisu and what was described as bread cake. Both were delicious, the tiramisu falling into the "eye poppingly good" category, eclipsed only by the one at North and Navy. We finsished with a complimentary plate of peaches macerated in syrup and mint, which was surprisingly magnificent. The lesson I learned - truly simple food executed perfectly in a comfortable atmosphere is the best food you will ever eat. A meal to remember. Oh yeh and their house wine was incredible too.

Until next post (promise it wont be this long).

Ciao tutti.

Bonjourno a tutti

We have been in Italy for 4 or so days and it has been an experience. On our day in Naples, we had one goal which was to eat pizza. On the journey from the hotel, we walked through a street market (complete with tiny italian flags draped across the street and street music) and also witnessed a high speed scooter chase with the police. No misfortunes befell us, maybe partly because we had one bag between us that we clutched closely. The pizzeria we found open happens to be one that Bill Clinton made famous (that guy gets around... he also made the hot dog stand in Reykjavik famous) although it was considered top quality by locals before that. And it was! Bufallo mozzarella, tangy tomato sauce and basil, thin but slightly chewy dough, and 500ml of wine for a couple euros to wash it down. Yum yum! We decided as we finished that we would try to catch the 2:10 train to Campobasso (our next destination), which involved power walking to the hotel then station and straight onto the train drenched in sweat. But, we had made it to our last hotel stop before our farm.

The following day was somewhat of a nightmare. We had to spend the morning in Campobasso getting our visa process sorted out. After around 4 hours of running around, getting lost, going back and forth between the police and post office, and not being understood very much, we were told to come back the next day at 9am, and we had to have a letter for the first place we would stay in the region. Argh... we knew we wouldnt have that, since Italians apparently pay taxes on guests (so many dont want to declare them) but they told us to come back anyway (we have 8 days from arriving to sort the issue out one way or another). Following that was an intense thunderstorm with hail. Our introduction to the farm that afternoon was not so great either...


Now we have been at a farm for the last 2 days. At first we were a bit uncertain this was such a great idea. The farmer was standoffish on the first day (we learned later he was hungover from a wedding with 3 hours of sleep), we were given a tiny room with two small cots and one pillow (there are 2 other woofers here... when they leave on friday we get there much nicer digs), and we found out it wasnt the restaurant/culinary experience that was advertised. Since then though, the farmer has grown on us a lot and has also already made bread, pesto, and tomato salad for us, and spent 2+ hours with Matt making fresh pasta with truffles and porticini mushrooms. We have been getting up at dawn (6am) and working until around 10am. After that Giovanni (the farmer) thinks it gets too hot and we have free time. Then maybe later in the day he will sometimes have other small jobs we help with. On the first day, we were fixing some fence along the edge of the property, and today we collected twigs/firewood as he chainsawed some branches apart.

The visa is still an aggravating topic. We wont have a letter of proof of accommodation, so it looks like the visa will fall through. That means we will be missing the third farm and leaving the Schengen zone after 3 months and going to Ireland for the last month instead. We missed our 9am appointment with the police, but Giovanni took us into town this morning to deal with it. Aggravatingly, the office was closed, but we did get the form we are supposed to fill out from the post office. We really hope we dont have to go back AGAIN to submit it, but we may have to. We just want to wipe our hands clean of the whole thing at this point, especially when it means asking Giovanni to drive us. We have been through enough pain trying to get this thing, so we hope dropping it will not have to be painful too.

Oh and there is no wifi here... I am currently on Giovanni's ancient computer. So blog posts will be less often.

Ciao!

Day 7 continued

Last night was a bit of an experience, so I have decided to give it a short post of its own.

We arrived in Naples around 1030pm and tracked down our bus. The driver was great, as we are very nervous and shaky with our Italian despite having done lessons for the past 4 months; its a very intimidating thing, having to speak someones native tongue to them with such a limited vocabulary.

We waited on the bus for a a few minutes, rehashing the highlights of our Iceland trip and waiting for other passengers. Turns out no one else was coming; the rubes probably taking cabs and being driven around in circles before reaching their destination, the locals doing whatever locals do.

As we cruised through the city, it sounded like we were amongst geese and felt like we were mechanical sardines in a tin; so much honking and congestion. The people on scooters seemed to be the ones who were the most free, dodging and zipping around the cars, letting out the occasional beep beep" of their own. Not in Kansas anymore. Not by a long stretch miei amici.

I pretty much immediately spotted a pizzeria I hoped I could remember the location of the next day. It looked perfect - tiny, white washed, plastic tables and locals, lots of locals, tons of locals, cramming the tables drinking and laughing.

Once we were dropped off at the station the real fun began: finding the hotel. The map made it seem incredibly close and easy to find, but we pretty much went in circles and circles and more circles for around 45mins. Turns out the hotel was about 2 mins away. Ah well, at least we got to see the city. On the way we witnessed someone nearly get bowled over by a car on a crosswalk where the pedestrian has the walk light!! First rule of Naples: there are no rules. Duly noted Naples.

Today is a new day. Time for some exploring.

Ciao!

Day 8 - Let The Italian Adventure Begin!!

Airports. Lots of fucking airports.

And my first meal in Paris...at McDonalds.

Tomorrow holds much promise, with a full day in Naples.

Day 7 - Iceland Adventure Finale

Today started with an incredible spread at the farm we were staying at. Lots of cheeses, local meats, local strawberries and breads, cereals and something I have come to love - sour milk, which seems to be a tangy, thick thick dairy product, usually mixed in with cereals.

Our host Jon and his wife Martina were delightful, regaling us with little known facts about Iceland (Icelandic is more rooted in Gaelic than any Nordic language; the majority of the modern Icelandic population is descended more from the Irish than the Norse; and something about a saga). He also gave us some quick tips about travel in Iceland (do NOT call an Icelandic persons horses ponies; do not expect sheep to move as they are an incredibly stubborn breed) and engaged me (Matt) in a deep conversation about skyr and how it has changed and become much more commercialized to suit modern palates over the years ("I used to eat it from parchment in a little but of milk with sugar...it was much firmer back then").

Their daughter had a little table set up with various items she had knit and was selling (I was shocked when Jon told me his daughter had knit them, and not his wife).

After breakfast Jon strongly encouraged us to explore the lush green mountains that were quite literally in his backyard, pointing out a cave that we failed to locate. It was fun nonetheless, as I was content to just bound around the hills like a sheep, trying to reach one of the low outcroppings before leaving.

A couple of waterfalls and a whole lot of puffin close-ups later we found ourselves back in Reykjavik.

Two hours later we had what I could confidently say was one of the Top 5 meals of my life at Dill  Restaurant. Highlights there included a parade of delicious modern Icelandic food, a drying lamb leg hanging in the dining room and just talking with our server whom was the embodiment of service excellence and regional knowledge.

Up at 350am tomorrow. Off to Italia!

Land of Ice

Thursday was probably the day of the trip I (Lynn) was looking to the most. Iceberg day! We got up really early since there was so much to see. The weather on the drive to the iceberg lagoon was as it had been for the last couple days - cold, windy and really rainy, but luckily it was clear by the time we got there. Some unlucky souls the day before were unable to go on the lagoon because of the waves. Phew that wasn't us!

We had a zodiac boat tour booked later in the morning, so until that started we just stared at the lagoon and marvelled. Then we headed to the boat site and suited up into some survival suit type things and lifejackets. Once we were on the boat we headed top speed to the other end (around 7km) to the base of the glacier where the icebergs are born. We floated there for a bit, enough time to hear the loud cracks of ice starting to calve, but 10 seconds too short to witness a chunk of ice crashing into the water. Oh well. Though I didn't witness an ice calving, I was present at the birth of Matt's new favourite joke - "what do you call ice in a bun? An iceberger!" The trip back to the launch site was slower, partly so the tourists could gawk at the icebergs as we drifted pass, and partly because a guy in an empty zodiac had to plow through the icy mush in the water (plus do some donuts) to clear a path for us. The whole trip took an hour and was amazing!

After the boat tour, we still weren't done with icebergs, since from the lagoon a short river carries them out to sea. Along that beach, a lot of the icebergs are smashed up by the waves and scattered all down the shore. So, with that and my camera I had quite a good time exploring up and down. Matt was a good sport taking photos with me and bits of ice, and had to deal with major soakers.

Our second stop of the day was at Skaftafell, where Matt was hoping we could join a glacier walk. However at this point we have entered what seems like a tourist zone, places people can get to from Reykjavik on a day trip. So, all tours were full. That's ok though, since there were lots of hiking trails to explore, including a short hike to a famous waterfall. After reaching that, we carried on to the top of that mountain to get a view of the glacier from above. The whole trip was around 3 hours and definitely worth it, even with the 4 blisters on my feet from earlier in the week.

After a dinner of hot dogs we arrived at our stop for the night, and our favourite of the week. Another farm, near Vik. The mountains in that area are big and very green, and the farm was tucked into a valley. It was also the nicest house we've been to - walls of windows and a deck around the house gave a great view. Though we were really tired, we headed out again for another hour to a famous beach down the road, where Matt caught his first sight of puffins (more later). It's also the beach with basalt columns you can climb and 3 big black columns of rock sticking out of the sea offshore (petrified trolls).

Back to Reykjavik tomorrow!

Iceland The Mighty, Iceland the Strong

The theme today seemed to be nature and what an incredible force it is, in both its ability to astound us with its beauty and chill us to the bone with its raw power and ferocity. But first we eat!

Breakfast that morning consisted of a huge spread that would make even a Caper jealous. It consisted of: cheese, ham salad, granola, sour milk, milk from the farm, cold cuts, SKYR!, crackers, coffee and tea. A good way to start the day. The perfect day to start the day would have been to be sent off by the farmer in his underwear....oh wait. That actually happened. The whole experience at the farm was incredible. The family was more than happy to have us there and treated us more like guests in their house than some rube paying them an inflated price to rent a single room for a night.
Off we zoomed, our bellies full of delicious food and hearts with joy...only to end  up at the end of a dead end. Garmin obviously hadnt had her coffee this morning and steered us astray. Back on track we made ou way to the REAL sulphur springs. They were magnificent, albeit stinky, blasting plumes of steam out of the ground, which reached temperatures of up to 200C underground. After a rather long stroll around we decided to set off, in the car reaching a consensus to not follow Ari's advice to take a shortcut he had advised us of which promised to be more scenic than the route we had chosen to take.

Next on the docket was Dettifoss which is the most powerful waterfall in all of Europe. I have never seen Niagra Falls and upon hearing this Lynn confidently proclaimed "This will be the biggest waterfall you have ever seen in your life!"

After traversing a stretch of land on foot that can best be described as moonlike, we ascended over a hill to a roar. Upon descent I saw what was most definitely the greatest display of pure hydro power I have ever seen. It was magnificent and terrifying and completely soaking us head to toe. But I couuldn't move; I was completely mesmerized. Once I managed to peel my feet out of place we made our way back to the car and were back on the road.

Greeted by a thick blanket of fog and a magnificent (insert sarcasm here) dirt road we started our trek around the mountain. After a rather long ascent we rounded a corner to have a valley revealed that was the definition of "breathtaking" replete with the stereotypical heavenly light shining down in the middle of it. I was completely awestruck. We must have spent a good 20 minutes down there. It was heavenly. Shortly after loading back into the car we were ground to a crawl by a small group of sheep who seemed determined to drink al of the water from a  puddle in the middle of the road. motorists be damned!! Excessive honking seemed to slightly get them moving, but being approached by the car seemed to turn their leisurely stroll into a gallop more effectively. Sheep averted we continued the journey to the next accommodation,  unbound by schedule or light in the day (seeing as how it typically lasts til 930 or 10).

The weather varied throughout the drive, switching from rain to fog to the slightest peak of sun, back to fog then rain again and so on. Our last major stop was a coastal one to watch the waves crash against the shore and a giant column of land. I absolutely love to watch the ocean, not only because it reminds me of home, but because it is a force that demands our respect because of its unbridled power and unpredictability. It is a true force of nature.

We concluded our day by rolling into an inn only to have our car chased by a posse of three dogs (one of whom was a one eyed chihuahua) which was immediately joined by a cat as soon as our feet hit the ground.

After some deeeeelicious Mr Noodles, Facebook, Instagram and this blog post we headed to bed, dreaming of the adventure into the birthing ground of icebergs we were about to undertake when morning came.

Day 3 - Iceland The Beautiful

Caffeinated, skyr-ed and ready to go, Lynn, Garmin and myself set out. We had a busy itnerary and not very far to go, so it was a very stress free day. The fact the sun doesnt even begin setting until about 10 or 1030pm here really helps with the whole getting-to-you-destination-before-dark thing and our first stop melted away any pre existing stress made it that much more enjoyable.

We chugged along route 1 which is called The Ring Road (it is the road we will be following for the majority of our time in Iceland) til we hit route 87 near a gorgeous lake called Myvatn. Easy driving, made in the shade. As we drove down the gravel road, weaving through what Lynn has come to call chocolate crumble fields (Willy Wonka would love this place!) we couldnt help but marvel at the abstract beauty of the lava fields, but they would have to wait until later, we were on to more relaxing activities.

As we rounded a corner we could see clouds of steam rising from small crevasses in the earth: the sulphur springs, more on them later. A quick right and another right and we were at our destination: the nature baths. They are pools (as in water that is contained in a rocky, sandy, natural structure; not a lined swimming pool) of geothermally heated water, so there are hot spots and cooler though never cold spots circulating through the pool. There were also giant showers you could meander under while in the pool - one had a wide spray, the other a single spout of water that just hammered your neck and back. No physio for Matt tonight!! Oh and as with everything in Iceland the view was ridiculous. I completely lost track of time, but not temperature as it was screaming out from a large digital display: 9.5C!! Once we hopped out Lynn immediately dashed to her towel and into the changing room while I stood there shivering and waffling between changing or going into this long narrow  hot-tub. It seemed to be the popular choice so i hopped in, put my head back, stretched out my legs, closed my eyes and reeeeeeeeeeelaxed. Meditation for the day - check!

The hot tub was pretty neat as well as it was, much the same as the pools, heated geothermically and did not have jets or anything. As relaxed as humanly possible, I hopped out of the hot tub and stared at the railing which is where everyone ties their towels prior to bathing. A great number more seemed to accumulate while I was blissfully taking my time in the hot tub. I stood shivering, staring and perhaps always swearing until I grabbed mine and started towelling off, until I realized it was not mine. Mine was blue, not pink. Whooooops. So I grabbed my BLUE towel and away I went. If you are reading this pink towelled person I am so sorry!

After that we headed to some lava fields (or chocolate crumble fields), Myvatn Lake then on to the airbnb. The airbnb was a little different this time as we were staying with someone deep in the country on their farm. As we rolled up we saw the farmers' son walking across the field in coveralls with purpose in his stride. As soon as we stepped out of the car we were greeted by a dog whom I took to calling Shadow, as I had no idea how to pronounce her real name. We were soon greeted by Ari (the farmer)'s wife who was very friendly and immediately showed us to our room and encouraged us to make ourselves at home and to join her in the kitchen once she returned from picking up a volunteer farmhand. We opted to first observe Ari and his son milk the cows. It was all done by machine with him first washing the teats then hooking up the machines, sucking out the milk, lubing the teats up presumably so they dont dry out, then sending the cows on their way. After two rounds of milking and far too many questions from myself he encouraged us to join his son for feeding the calves, which pretty much consisted of the son tossing a bucket of milk in an elevated trough that had a number of spouts affixed to an artifical teat. Some pictures and romping around in a barn later we returned to the house.

After obligatory Instagramming and Facebooking we made our way to the kitchen table where she was sitting with the newly acquired help from Germany. We sat and talked with Ari, his wife and Phillip the farm helper for a couple of hours. They told us stories about how they came to be farmers (Ari was raised on a farm, his wife married into the farm life and was getting used to it bit by bit) and answered any questions we had about Iceland, complete with anecdotes about asian guests who thought the Northern Lights were a sign of fertility, so as soon as they saw them they dashed inside and (it was assumed) they started humping like bunnies. Then there were the guest swho paid $120 to take a tour to see the Northern Lights, all the while Ari telling them they were stunning over his farm. Turns out, surprise surprise, he was right. We were also treated to a story about the biggest day of the year - the day the sheep are herded off the mountain and shepherded back to their respected farms.

Perfect way to end the night. Buona notte!

Day 2 - The adventure continues

Today started out with Lynn in the driver's seat, Garmin in the navigator's seat and I in the sheep-watch seat. It also included a quest for caffeine.  Unfortunately all the coffee shops were opening late as it was a bank holiday, Coffee would wait. So we gassed up, got coffee and a away we went!!

A little way along we decided to stop beneath the soaring mountains for a bite of skyr.
To clarify, skyr is well...as our farm hosts tonight put it...skyr. It is made in the same manner as ricotta or German quark only in so far as it is dairy that is brought up to a certain temperature and then has something added to it that encourages curd and whey separation. It is usually made with skim milk and a little of an older batch of skyr is typically added for bacterial culture and to separate curd from whey. It is flavored here much like yogurt, but this is where the similarity ends. Tell an Icelander skyr  is pretty much yogurt and I am 95% certain some form of bodily harm will be coming your way. It is thicker than Greek yogurt, but in terms of texture, it would be the most similar. It is also much drier. It's just....skyr.

Our bellies full of skyr and bodies coursing with adrenaline from the coffee and prospect of awesome adventure ahead we set off.

Next stop was at the top of a road located in a massive valley, where there seemed to be only one small cabin at the very bottom of said valley. Bladders emptied and off we went.

The final big stop of the day was a famous waterfall + mountain combo. Like much of the scenery in Iceland it was breathtaking. Pictures will never, ever do the landscapes in this country justice. I dont care how hi res your camera is or what kind of extra doo dads you snap on or how you filter it on Instagram, the natural beauty of this place is unreal and can only be seen to be fully experienced.

Pictures taken, breath recaptured, we set out for the last stop of the day - our airbnb in a tiny village I believe is called Blonduos. Dinner was hot dogs. Though not as tasty as the famous dogs in Reykjavik, they did the trick of filling out tummies.

Unpacked and ready to hit the town we decided it would be a good time for me to learn how to drive standard so I could tackle some of the driving. suffice it to say that it was neither fun nor pretty. There were a lot of swear words, lots of stalling, no getting out of second gear and I am pretty sure we both sustained major whiplash.

Our day concluded with a beautiful seaside walk, me fearing the birds circling overhead, as Lynn had once told me a horror story of her being swarmed by the buggers in Norway. They are called arctic terns. Look them up; apparently they are incredibly territorial. Crisis averted we headed back to the airbnb for sleep and a new day.

The first day

I guess we'll say the first day started when we arrived at our apartment in Reykjavik - 2am for me and 8am for Matt. I got about 4 hours of sleep, Matt none, but nonetheless we headed out. First stops in the morning included the famous church (which was a minute walk from our place, easy marker), a big flea market, a famous hot dog stand, and the Knitting Association of Iceland shop, where I bought a very expensive hand knit sweater. Our other goal before the afternoon was to find an electronics shop to buy a charger for the gopro, which didn't get packed. That involved a long walk past warehouses and shipyards along the water, but was ultimately a successful trip!

We were met at the flea market by a guy from Cheap Jeep with our car. We were waiting by the hot dog stand when he called to say he arrived, so we stared towards the parking area. "I think I see you" he said. "By the hot dog stand?" "Yes it's you then. I'm right behind you" then BAM we turned around and he was right there. Interesting character.

With the car, we headed out toward Thingvellir, where the North American and european continental plates divide, and also where Iceland's first parliament was. Matt was feeling the 30 or so waking hours at that point, so we poked around a bit while we waited for Silfra snorkelling under the midnight sun. Basically, between the two continental plates is filtered glacial water and some of the clearest water on the planet. And we snorkelled it. The preparation process was a bit brutal, since we had to don dry suits, then wet suits, which snap tight around the wrists and neck, then a tight head sack thing, flippers, mitts and mask. Once in the water we had air pockets trapped inside our suits, so we basically just went limp and floated down the chasm. The water was something like 4C but we only felt it in the hands where water leaked in... and our mouths, which went numb after a couple minutes.Hard to describe without pictures but it was pretty awesome. Finished up with some hot chocolate and cookies, then drove back to Reykjavik with some Iceland radio for company.