Oopsy.....A Day Adenture Goes Wrong

     

     When my daughter Emily was a little girl and she would make a mistake, or accidentally break something, she would look at me with the cutest smile and say "Oopsy".  I remembered this when we went for a day adventure together and what started off as wonderful went very wrong.

     With Emily coming to enjoy the holiday season with me I asked her what she really wanted to do this trip.  Of all the things she could do she wanted to go to a World War II museum.  Great, I thought, as I love history - particularly World War II history.  Yes, we are history geeks.  I found two museums; one on the outskirts of Bologna and the other in a little town in the countryside in Castel del Rio.  I called both museums confirming their opening hours.  I was not sure how we would get to the one museum in the countryside, but fortunately the museum Director told me that if we took the train to the closet town he would pick us up and take us to the museum.  We were all set for our "geek" day of adventure.

     The Museo Memoriale della Liberta is located on the very outskirts of Bologna.  We had to take a train from Florence and then a bus.  Once arriving at a particular bus stop the museum Director then talked us through how to walk to the museum through a Polish memorial cemetery and down a long lane lined with trees.  It was not until we arrived that we realized that the 88 year old Director and owner of the museum, Edo, actually opened up the museum just for us.  He said in the winter he does not get many visitors venturing his way.  In perfect English he told us how he fought as a patriot during World War II and what life was like for his family at the time.  Over the course of 60 years he has collected artifacts from the war ranging from uniforms to guns to vehicles, which he stores in an airplane hanger.  Almost every country that participated in the war is represented in his collection, including Canada.  One hanger housed historically accurate life size dioramas.  Emily and I stepped into a bomb shelter, and were able to get a sense of what life was like for those who had to live days in the protection of the shelter.  Emily and I were amazed that one man could amass such a collection, and exhibit it in such an educationally and emotionally rich way.  After experiencing the museum, and it truly is an experience, Edo showed us a film that he took on the day of liberation.  Through his eyes we are able to see the day that freedom returned to Bologna, and the destruction that was left in the aftermath of the war.  Edo then offered to drive us to a nearby train station that would take us to the town near the next museum that we wanted to go to.  Emily and I looked at each other, surprised by his kindness and willingness to go out of his way.  First Edo opened up the museum just for us, and then he drove us to the train station

     I had talked earlier to the Director of the Museo della Guerra when we first arrived in Bologna.  As he was occupied during the day he suggested that we meet him at 6:30 pm at the train station, then he would drive us to the museum and then take us back to the train station.  There was no other way to get to the museum as no buses went to the very small town of Castel del Rio, so to say that I was grateful for his kindness was an understatement.  Again, I could not believe that someone would go so much out of their way.  I jokingly said to Emily that it was all too good to be true.  I think that was the moment when I jinxed us.  

     When Alberto picked us up we learned that he was the Mayor of Castel del Rio.  I assumed he would be driving us 10-15 minutes to the museum, but it was closer to 45 minutes.  Apologizing for the heat not being on in the museum, which is located in a medieval castle, Alberto gave us a private tour of the museum sharing with us the history of the Gothic line, which ran through the nearby mountains.  I tried to give him money for his time and gas, but he would not have it.  He told me that in the winter he is delighted to have visitors as he was lucky to see 6 or 7 in the winter months.  We were his first Canadians, and soon to be his most unforgettable Canadians he would meet.  Just like the other museum, the collection from incredible.  Between the two museums our "history geekness" was satisfied.

     Then Alberto checked the train times for our return back to Florence.  I assumed when he suggested a time for us to go to the museum that as a "local" he was aware of the train times between Bologna and Florence.  I also assumed that given that Bologna is a big city there would be regular trains running until 11 or 12 pm.  It did not even cross my mind that we may have difficulty getting home.  In the typical Italian way of not really sweating a problem, Alberto broke the news to me that there was no way we would make the last train back to Florence - 9:15 pm.  We were stranded an hour away from Florence in the middle of the countryside, and the dogs were at home.  Alberto suggested that we go get a glass of wine to try and figure out a plan.  I explained that we had to get home to the dogs.  We entered a small town bar full of Italian men who had clearly been there a while enjoying both wine and the soccer game.  Emily whispered in my ear, "Do not leave me here alone for a minute".  Alberto reassured us that he would stay with us until we found a way home.  He called a driver that he knew to see if he would drive us to Florence, but because of the hour, close to 10pm by now, he did not want to.  I then called friends in Florence to put on their thinking caps for a way for us to get home.  One friend was at a function that he could not leave for two hours, but said he would then come for us if we were still stranded.  As I frantically placed calls back and forth with friends my cell phone began to die.  I scrambled to write down telephone numbers before it died as Alberto offered to let me use his phone if mine shut off, which it did.  And he bought me another glass of wine, saying that I looked like I needed it.  I didn't know whether to cry, throw up or laugh at Emily and I getting stranded on our museum adventure.  Finally a friend was able to arrange a driver to come get us and take us back to Florence.  Safely on our way home Emily spoke up from the backseat, "At least the museums were really interesting".  We can chuckle about it now, although at the time positive thinking was not something that I was embracing. 
     250 euro later, and two hours of driving through such thick fog that you could not see past the front of the car (it should have only been an hour drive), we made it back home to the dogs at 1 am.  We were so tired and hungry.  Walking home the day was put into perspective though when we passed a homeless man sleeping on the street.  Suddenly our day did not look so bad.  It was Emily who suggested that we heat him up some homemade soup that I had in the fridge and take it to him to warm him up on the cold winter night.  His eyes lit up with our kindness.  Yes this day was a big "oopsy" day, but it started with two men going out of their way to be kind to us, and in the end it came full circle with us being kind to a homeless man.  Emily and I cuddled in bed chuckling about our adventure gone wrong, but feeling good that we were able to return kindness with kindness.              

                  

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Singing the Praises Of The Bidet

     I never understood why bidets are so popular here in Italy.  In a city where space is such a precious commodity I always thought a bidet was nothing but wasted space.  Most bathrooms are so small that it is unheard of to have both a bathtub and a shower stall, yet there is always a bidet.  I have always thought of the bidet as a useless piece of plumbing that if removed would provide space for a storage cabinet; storage space being in such shortage in Italian apartments that it is seen as almost luxurious.  No hoarding happening here in Florence as you are constantly considering what you can purge to make room for something new.  For those of you that don't know what a bidet is, it is a low-mounted plumbing fixture, closing resembling a toilet, "intended for washing the genitalia, inner buttocks, and anus".  Really, can't a shower once a day take care of anything that a bidet is taking care of?   How gross can it be down there that you need a special plumbing fixture to take care of it?

     Then it came to me one day.  I had an epiphany.  During the spring and summer months when you wear sandals the dirt on the streets is an unavoidable hazard of city life.  At the end of the day your feet are literally caked in a layer of black, that trust me you do not want to take into your bed.  Often it is so bad that you wash your feet more than once in the day.  I scrubbed my feet in the tub, and then had to clean the tub with cleanser to get rid of the black grime.  One day as I walked into the bathroom to clean my feet before bed and it hit me, the bidet is a small tub of sorts, so why not use it to clean my feet and not get the big tub dirty.   Late at night cleaning a tub is the last thing you want to do.  I know for someone you is "gifted", skipped a grade in high school and has a Masters degree, I can be a little slow on the uptake sometimes.  I am embarrassed to say how long it took me to clue into the actual usefulness of the bidet.  I will admit to it being more than one season.  Now, I am singing the praises of the invention of the bidet.  While I have never used my bidet to clean my ass, it does make scrubbing the city grime from my feet much easier.        

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Top Ten Things I Love About Autumn In Florence

     Between Florence's long sweltering summer days where you can feel the sweat dripping down the back of your ears, and the winter rains (which have seemed never-ending this year continuing as we embrace February), there is autumn.  

     I use to hate autumn when I lived in Canada because it meant days and days of raking leaves and cutting back flowers in the gardens.  Often as I looked at my raked lawn, and then over at my neighbour's yard full of leaves just waiting to blow over to my yard, I would pray that the winds would stay away.  Every year my resentment of leaves grew and grew as I band-aided the blisters on my fingers after a long day of raking.  With every stroke of the rake I would mutter to myself that greenery was overrated.  I would dream of living amongst concrete, not caring that with the concrete came pollution.  It was a price I was willing to pay to be free of raking leaves.  

     I now find myself embracing autumn, perhaps because Florence is more of a concrete masterpiece then a concrete jungle.  Instead of autumn being a time of exhaustion, resentment and blistered hands, it is a time that I have come to love for these reasons.....

10. The tourists leave so those of us that live here get our streets back.  Instead of facing what we call the gauntlet of hoards of tourists, we can go back to meandering through our streets. 

9. When running in the hills above Florence the grass is green again after being scorched by the summer heat, and a smell of freshness returns in the air.

8. Cool, yet still warm, nights lounging on the terrazza sipping wine under the stars as the summer haze has lifted.  Also, enjoying nights up at Piazza Michelangelo watching the sun set while sipping prosecco and nibbling on cheese and salami.   

7. Day trips out to wineries in the countryside to see the grapes bursting on the vines ready to be harvested.  

6. No need to have to change your clothes in the day because they got drenched with your sweat from the scorching summer temperatures. 

5. The flower market full of colour as the cooler temperatures act like a second spring.  

4. The vegetables and fruits in abundance again in the markets.  While there is never really a bad time for produce here in Italy, unlike Canada where you can go months and months with tasteless produce, the fall and early winter bring on the tastiest time for produce. The oranges are so sweet and juicy that I eat three a day.  

3. No leaves to rake!!!!! and no snow to shovel!!!!!

2. Clean feet.  With autumn comes wearing socks or tights, which means no scrubbing the black from your feet at night.

1. The many fall festivals and outdoor markets.  I especially look forward to the German Christmas market.  There is just something inexplicably special about being able to sit outside and enjoy bratwurst and beer at the end of November.  Oh, the simple pleasures.   

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Celebrating The Pearls Of The Ground In San Miniato

     When I was a child I hated mushrooms.  As I got older I came to appreciate their subtle earthy taste.  Since moving to Italy I have come to learn that the "king" of the fungi family is the truffle.  The difference between a mushroom and a truffle being that truffles grow under the ground.  For over 3000 years people have been enamoured by the bold taste and aroma of the truffle, but a truffle is not for everyone.  For some the taste is overpowering.  Just as a fine scotch is an acquired taste loved my some and hated by others, so is the truffle.  For me, I can't get enough of them.  

     I have come to learn that truffles grow 3-12 inches below the ground among the roots of trees, hence why they are difficult to find making them a buried treasure of sorts.  It is said that "truffle hunters" use specially trained dogs or pigs to sniff out and dig up these expensive pearls of the ground.  While pigs are better at sniffing out the truffle, I am told that it can be a challenge to get them to relinquish the tasty treasure.  It seems that pigs love truffles too.     

     In November Italians celebrate the truffle with fall fairs.  I have come to realize that if Italians aren't celebrating a saint they are celebrating food - both being great excuses to get together for a day of delicious food and fine wine.  In honour of the truffle friends and I headed out for a day of adventure to the heartland of the truffle, San Miniato, which is located half way between Florence and Pisa.  The last three weekends of November attract truffle lovers from all over the world to this medieval hilltop town that survived German mining during World War II.  

     During the truffle festival the streets and piazzas of this quaint hilltop town are lined with truffle vendors, as well as vendors for other local specialties including olive oil, pecorino cheese, salami,  pastes and sauces, often truffle-based.  As I browsed through the stands my mouth watered anxious to sample the many delicacies.  I was in food heaven.  Of course no food experience here in Italy would be complete without wine.  I am still amazed how you can get a wonderful bottle of wine for less than 10 euro here in Italy.  In fact, 10 euro is splurging.  I did taste my first cannoli at the truffle festival.  It just seemed to be screaming out to me.  And yes I had lived in Italy for two years and had yet to taste a cannoli.  I had waited because I thought that I would find it too sweet.  As the creamy taste melted in my mouth I thought how wrong I was to have waited so long to try a cannoli.  Given that Italians are masters of pasta, wine and "dolce" I never should have doubted how delicious it would be. 

     After indulging, we did walk to the tower that was destroyed during World War II and then rebuilt as a sign of the rebirth of the town.  Doing so made me feel not quite so guilty about this day of adventure being about indulging in great food and wine, as now there was an educational component.  After a wonderful day I headed home with cheeses and pastes thinking that my daughter Emily, also a truffle lover, would enjoy them when she came over at Christmas.  Well it is a good thing that it is the thought that counts because they did not last until Christmas for Emily to enjoy.  A girl can only have so much willpower.  I could only last so long with the truffle pecorino and gorgonzola cheeses, as well as the truffle paste, screaming "Eat me!!!" from the fridge.  We all have our weaknesses.  For me, the truffle would definitely be one of them. 

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