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.   

Read more

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. 

Read more

A Date With Florence.

     Just being is something that I struggle with.  If I am not doing something purposeful then I feel anxious.  Even when I am "relaxing" on the terrace I am usually gardening, sweeping, mopping or studying from my dreaded Italian books; often accomplishing all of the above in one "relaxing" afternoon.   My friends, who have no trouble sitting on the terrace with the only purposeful thing they are doing is sipping a glass of wine, know not to challenge me anymore to come and just sit.  I am who I am.

      The other day I was thinking about why I am this way.   It gets a little crazy sometimes.  Even when watching a favourite television program I will be cleaning baseboards.  My friends shake their heads as they have never cleaned their baseboards, meanwhile anyone can randomly run their fingers across mine, or the tops of doors, and they will not find dust.  Last summer it really hit home when Liz arrived for a visit and within 10 minutes I had my trusty Swifter vacuum going.  She lovingly, but firmly, told me that given that there was going to be 5 of us in my small apartment I "had to get a grip".  I did pretty well the rest of their visit; only begging them once to all go out so that I could "do my thing" and bring order back to my world.

      I think I have trouble just being because for so many years I was thrust from one crisis to another, not of my own doing.  Many days I woke up in fear of what I would have to face in the day.  Trying to navigate my way through a messy and traumatic divorce, while at the same time raising two children and working left very little time for sleep, let alone being able to take a moment to just breathe.  It seemed like there was always something that I had to do just to keep my head above water, so I wonder if now I feel like I have to be doing something or I will drown.

     As I have worked on reclaiming my life, setting boundaries about what I am capable of doing and assertively going after my own happiness, I have gotten much better at taking time just for me.  While it still feels like a battle that I have to consciously wage,  I am determined to win this battle and get to a place where I feel at peace just being. 

      In my quest for this I booked a date with myself on a Wednesday afternoon when I did not really have to do anything.  Yes I could have told myself that there were any number of things on my "To Do" list that I could have done, the reality was there was nothing that absolutely had to be done.  As I run back into Florence from the countryside each day I tell myself that I never want to take it for granted that I live in such a beautiful city that is so rich in history and culture.   As I look down from the hills at the Duomo and the Palazzo Vecchio I often find myself taking a deep sigh of gratitude for what is before me.  Even now as I write this I have the joy of experiencing the bells of the Duomo ringing in the background.  I never want to take my beautiful city for granted, so that quiet Wednesday afternoon I decided to go on a date with just me and Florence.

     It was a cheap date, which is one of the things that I love about Florence.   You do not have to spend a lot of money to experience an absolutely glorious day or evening.  It is funny how simplicity can sometimes give rise to the best experiences.  My date started off with a panini from my favourite little sandwich shop.  For 2.50 euros you can experience a sandwich that bursts of flavour as you bite into it, and it is served with just the right amount of flirting from the owner, otherwise known as "sexy sandwich guy".  From there I spent two hours just walking around Florence, not knowing where I would go and with absolutely no agenda.  I just let my feet take me wherever they wanted to go.  I will say though that I was happy to find myself standing in front of my favourite gelatoria after walking 2 hours in 40 degree heat.  I threw caution to the wind and for 1.50 euros had a little taste of heaven, otherwise known as mousse ciocolatto.  After all what is a date without a little treat.  It is a good thing that I do not live next door to this gelatoria or I would have to be running up more hills.  It is one of those tasty treats that is best out of sight because otherwise you could never resist it.  While I see people taking packs of gelato home to their freezer, I would never dare to do that.  I know there is a limit  to my strength and I am not prepared to test the limit with yummy gelato easily available in my freezer.  

     I enjoyed my date with Florence.  Like most first dates it felt a little awkward in the beginning, but as I gave myself permission to enjoy the quiet afternoon I found myself really having a good time  just being.  My new goal - when Liz and friends come in September I will not take my Swifter out for at least 48 hours.    

             

Read more

The Art of Provoking Thought

     In high school I avoided the art room like it was the plague.  I simply could not understand the allure of messy paints and listening to the history behind paintings that were hundreds of years old.  Now give me a pig to dissect, or an equation where I had to solve for X, and I was excited.  It is ironic that I now live in a city world famous for its art.  In many ways, since the Renaissance period Florence has stood still in time.  Many of the buildings have remained virtually unchanged for hundreds of years, and the work of the famed Renaissance artists continue to command the same spaces that they have since Florence was ruled by the Medici family.

     It was with hesitation that I agreed to go with friends this past weekend to an art showing in one of Florence's most famed art studios.  Okay, I admit it, I agreed to go because I had heard about the dashing older artist who has run the studio for the past 30 years.  I was curious to meet the man that so many have talked about.  And he is single.  

     As I walked into the studio one got a sense of walking back in time.  There was an area where a family has been sculpting for 5 generations.  Even I could not help but be taken by the fact that before me was the work of a family that has transcended literally 400 hundred years.

     When I walked into the part of the studio where artists paint in the same tradition as the Renaissance artists, I saw that everyone was hanging onto the words of the handsome artist who was passionately talking about his craft and the talent of his students.  As I looked at the many paintings hanging throughout the studio the talent of the students was obvious to even my untrained eye.  Somehow in each painting you just got a sense that you were getting a peak into the souls of the models through their eyes and facial expressions.  The models ranging from beautiful young women to older alcoholic men that live on the streets. 

     In the middle of the room was a very handsome young Italian soccer player who was acting as a model.  Two the left of him was a pretty young woman painting her view of him.  To the right was an older balding man painting his view of this Italian stud.  I could not help but be amazed how two artists captured the handsome and athletic soccer player in two very different ways.  The pretty female artist painting him in a soft and sensual way, influenced perhaps by her own sexual attraction to him. The older balding male artist painting him in a sharp and aggressive manner, perhaps influenced by his jealousy that this young man possesses what he lost decades ago - youth, looks, virility.  Despite the artists both painting the same model one painting had the eyes of a great lover, and one had the eyes of an angry stalker.  

     It was a truly unique experience to have the opportunity to be able to spend time with some of the students.  Young men that were obviously very gifted.  They did not apologize for being able to pursue their craft because of being trust fund babies.  They did not care.  What they cared about was having the opportunity to study under one of the greatest teachers of our day.  While I was in awe of their talent because I am someone who can barely manage to draw a stick figure, what really struck me was the story behind each artist; many of whom are tortured souls that use their craft to release their angst that threatens to take over them each day of their lives.  I was fascinated by how closely looking at their work, and the symbolism behind it, one got a window into the lives and indeed their souls. 

     My friends and I were then invited by the artists to go to the opening of another art show in Florence.  So only as one would think of doing in Italy, we refilled our wine glasses for the walk along the Arno to the other art show.  There one of the young artists that I had met earlier walked me through each painting challenging me to see the work through different eyes and to look deeper into the story behind the work.

     Before I knew it five hours had passed.  My friends and I were so captivated by the experience that we just then realized that we had not eaten dinner.  For hours we sat, sipping wine, hanging onto the words of the dashing older artist and mentor of the young men and women of his studio.  We debated, we laughed and we got totally drawn in by his passion for art.  As I sat eating my pasta dinner I thought about how fortunate I was to experience this day; a day were great art, history, wine, food and people were all married together in a way that can only happen here in Italy.  It truly was a gift.  It has been a long time since my mind has been challenged in such a way where I felt this kind of intellectual excitement; and it was because of art.  Who knew that through art I would experience an intellectual orgasm.  For the first time I got why so many people are seduced into the world of art.  Lucky for me this great seduction is not over as I am having dinner with the dashing older artist later this week.              

              

Read more

The Simple Pleasures In Life

 
     One of the things that I love the most about Italy is the slower pace of Italian life.  Italians have perfected the art of stopping to smell the roses, with their version of this usually involving a glass of wine and visiting with family or friends.
     Last weekend my Italian friend Carlotta suggested that we go for a walk and enjoy the sunset over Florence.  After picking up a couple of bottles of prosecco we headed up to Piazzale Michelangelo.  Laura, the shortest of the group, offered to carry my backpack with the prosecco in it.  With my backpack overpowering her in size I could not help but think of the mountain climber game on the Price Is Right.  Any minute I expected Laura to start yodeling as she made her way up the 200 stairs.

     As we were enjoying just being together it struck me that there we were sitting on the steps of Piazzale Michelangelo, 7 very different women from 5 different countries, but we were all bonded together by our strength and our love to live life to the fullest.  We toasted with great gratitude each of our journeys that brought us to those very steps that day.  Sometimes life's pain is the birthplace of joy.  2 bottles of prosecco - 8 euros.  The walk up - 200 stairs.  The view and time spent chatting with great women - absolutely priceless.

 

   

Read more

Verona....The City of Love

     Our day trip to Verona seemed to be plagued with problems at first.  It started off with Val dropping her cell phone in the toilet and then I fell, tripping on an uneven stone, on my way to the train station.  I am getting use to doing face plants in front of crowds of people.  It is a humbling experience.  I was just happy that this time I did not have a dress on.  Just as we walked through the porta into the city of love, down I went again.  As I saw my ankle give way, and bending in a way that it shouldn't, all I could think about was to shift the weight of my body so that it would not snap.  A broken ankle most certainly would not fit into the busy schedule that I had worked out for us for the day.  Poor Libby must have felt like she was riding in a roller coaster.  After brushing off my pants, and taking a few deep breaths, we began our exploration of Verona with map in hand.

     Verona is a beautiful city full of colour and life.  The buildings are covered with intricate iron work and frescoes.  Verona has a magnificent coliseum built in 30AD.  Arena di Verona is the third largest coliseum in Italy.  Plays and operas are held in the coliseum during the summer months.

         

     

     While it is not clear whether Romeo and Juliet ever really existed, nevertheless we headed to Casa di Giulietta with our "letters to Juliet" in hand.  It is said that if you rub the breast of the statue of Juliet that it will bring you good luck in love.  Letters tucked into the door, breasts rubbed, off we went to explore the rest of Verona.   

 

        

     The churches in Verona are of course magnificent.  As I stood outside the Duomo reading the fee schedule I noticed that there was a "family" rate.  I then thought that it was a brilliant idea for Laura and I pretend to be lovers and then her, I and and Laura's daughter Alex could save money with the "family" rate.  Val reminded me that it was a Catholic church that we were entering.  Laughing hysterically I had to concede that this was not the time to test the definition of "family" here in Italy.

     Throughout Verona there are many outdoor tombs.  The Arche Scaliegere houses princes and city leaders.  You might think that one would get tired of looking at the sculptures here in Italy, but you just don't because of the detail.  Each and every time I find myself, who is incapable of molding something recognizable out of clay, in awe of the work.  

        

     As the sun was setting we walked along the Adige River.  Libby and Sofia were pretty tired as our day came to an end.  We were all exhausted, but it was a good kind of exhaustion - brought on by spending a really great day with friends.  As we got off the train in Florence we all took a deep breath and in unison said, "Casa Dolce Casa".  Then off for pizza we went.  It just seemed fitting to end our day with a pizza made by our very special pizza men.  While this Celtic woman celebrated St. Partick's Day touring the city of love with people that I love, in honour of St. Patrick I did wash my pizza down with a cold beer.  

Read more

To All Italian Drivers.......STOP means STOP!!!!

 

     Rant for the day....Italians have to be the worst drivers in the world!  They take a stop sign as a suggestion that only needs to be considered, rather than adhered too.  Today I was running and as I was crossing an intersection a car pulled into it not looking straight ahead, but instead only to the right resulting in him not seeing me even though I was directing in front of his car.  Who drives into an intersection without looking in both directions before pulling into it?  Italians! I would have been happy if he just looked straight ahead because then he would have seen me.  Is it too much to ask that someone who is driving through an intersection first check to make sure that there is not someone or something ahead of them in the intersection?  Lucky for me the driver was going slow enough that I managed to pound my hands on the hood of his car loud enough to startle him.  I had the superwoman pose with both hands spread on the hood of the car as if I could stop it.  Seems funny now, but was not at the time.  I am sure that I had a look of terror on my face as I thought for sure I was going down.  He managed to brake fast enough for me to stay on my feet.  He seemed shocked that there might be someone or something in front of him.  But not shocked enough to apologize for almost running over me.  No, instead he gave me a wave and carried on as I stood there with my heart pounding.  To all Italian drivers....STOP means STOP!!!!!! 

Read more