I came, I saw, I conquered- or - I will paint, I will refinish, I will do anything to rebound from my euro deficit ... Ah, yes, I must end with a comment about our beloved euro. Actually, I am out of them, so there really isn't anything to say. Yes, as I have been reminded (that's right-someone else is in charge of redoing my mind)... this is the trip of a lifetime, and they are right; I do feel like I have been tripping on LSD or something! I just never realized that I was destined to be Lenny from "Of Mice and Men" and not George- "the rabbits, George, tell me about the rabbits"......
It has been an interesting month, and surely one that I will have much fun thinking about and talking about for a long time. I am very happy that I was able to spend this time with Aliyah and company, going hither and thither, to and fro. I never dreamed I would come to Italy, but I am happy that this all transpired. I feel my parents and grandparents here, and I do ponder the thought that perhaps I came here to do some karmic work. As you know, my Mother recently passed away, and at times I have thought that she sent me here, but it is only a fleeting thought. Do I feel any more Italian than before I came? It's a good question, but it's not like I walked around everyday for sixty-one years thinking I was Italian. Actually, I felt more Greek for most of my adult life, having taught thousands of Greeks in Upper Darby, and, I still know more Greek words than Italian- most of them way too off color for such a public forum. (Ese' Kalla)
Aliyah certainly looks like a little Italian, but she also could slip into almost any Mediterranean lineage, or be accepted anywhere with her loving smile. But there must be some connection, some point to this journey, right? I mean, I know it has triggered some intense reflection at times, and I have certainly enjoyed the sights, the sounds, and the people.(OK, the food wasn't bad either) Unquestionably, the Italian and Sicilian pastoral beauty is something I will never forget. For now, I will just have to leave it at this: An appreciation for more of God's landscape, more of His wonder, another affirmation of His magnificence in all things seen and unseen. The Roman Catholic Church calls St. Peter's Cathedral "The Holy See". To me, you either see God in all things and people or you don't. I am either seeing holy or I am not. I am either acting respectfully to myself and others or I am not. I am either aware of the presence of God within me, accompanying me, walking with me, or I am not. I am either giving thanks, or I am not. We all have the "The Holy See" inside of us.
All of this Roman Catholicism and Roman antiquity has triggered a desire to research the story of Jesus, may peace be upon him, and the hodgepodge of information surrounding his life and departure. It has always fascinated me how the Torah and the Quran were given and kept as complete, unaltered revelations, but the New Testament contains only what was remembered and repeated by others. The more I research, the more complex it gets, but it is interesting to read some of what went on and how so many of the Roman and Greek customs and concepts were blended into the story, and how Rome latched onto this and took charge. I am more than a little curious about the way this whole story was put together, especially in the first years after Jesus' departure, may peace be upon him. As one author put it: Rome conquered the world a second time with Christianity.
So, I thank God for this day of consciousness. He has put me here for a reason, and today was another day to discover/uncover that reason. Aliyah is helping me fly, lifting me up, keeping me in touch, giving me a purpose when I can't see one, and for this I am grateful. My family keeps helping me break through barriers and teaching me ways to let go that I never dreamed possible. This has been Italy, let's see what tomorrow brings.
Bongiorno one last time from "The Eternal City" of Roma. This is Alberto Novelli signing off for now. Look for my next blog which will be called "Mr. Novelli's American Adventure". It will actually be a daily Twelve Step Overeaters Anonymous program diary to help me stop eating compulsively.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Walking in Caesar's Favorite Garden
At times this place does get to you. I mean, we have had two full days enjoying Julius Caesar's favorite places. One, the Borghese Gardens, which sit high above the Piazza Dei Popolo, offer a bit of respite from the cobblestone walkways which make up much of the Roman landscape. It's a typically pleasant place, like almost any city park anywhere, except for the incredible artistry and age of the fountains and Roman columns from centuries hence. You can also still drink from the fountains that are fed from the original aqueducts. Yes, the very one's that Julius, Brutus, Cassius, Titinius, The Soothsayer, Portia, and everyone else drank from.
Julius' other favorite hangout was located in a place that shocked all of us. It was in the "Jewish Ghetto or Jewish Quarters", a small area where most of the oldest dated ruins and remains from very ancient Rome have been found. It turns out that Julius enjoyed the company of the Jews and offered protection for them. The story of this small area of Rome runs through many eras, but as you would expect, the history of what happened here in the 1930's and 1940's during the War is quite noteworthy...
I will say before going any further on this topic, that this is only the second place, with St. Francis's tomb being the first, where I have felt anything internally, any sense of vibration or stillness, but this feeling was not one of serenity. There was a silence in the few small blocks of the Ghetto that was uncanny, no, impossible not to feel. I felt as if the walls of the buildings were witnesses to horrific acts and tremendous torment, and they were speaking to me, screaming, crying. This was not a pleasant place.
The Catholic Church teaches about sins of commission and sins of omission: Things that you do, and things that you should have done. The more we read about the history of these Quarters, the more upsetting it was to understand the attitude and the ignorance that these people had to endure and live with. One Papal edict after edict throughout the centuries had subjected the Jews to hardship after hardship and left them with fewer rights than any good conscience could ever dream up. The only thing that came to mind was the plight of the Negro slaves in America. But, once again, when the Church not only turned its back and let the Nazis relocate over two thousand people to Auschwitz, from where only sixty-one returned, and then issued a Papal document explaining that it was in the interest of self preservation and prudence, it makes you wonder what exactly is the source of the real ignorance that allows an organization to live with a policy that dehumanizes a race. This was a pitiful place, and one that upset me tremendously. Of course, there were stories of good people and priests who risked their lives to help the Jews, but it did little to shift the focus from the hierarchy who ignored them.
Yesterday, we finally entered the Coliseum. Aliyah's friend, Musa, attached us to one of his tours and charged us only for the admission, which was very kind of him. We sat and listened to the excellent guide as she explained that exactly where we were sitting was once the site of Nero's statue, which stood taller than the Coliseum. The Emperor Nero burned down sixty percent of the City in sixty-four A.D. or thereabouts and blamed it on the Christians, who then became fair game for the events in the Coliseum and throughout the Empire. After he burned the City, he drained his private lake and it was there, next to his statue and palace, that they built the Coliseum.
The arena's scale is unbelievable, very much the size of the Phillies' ballpark or the Eagles'. It sat between fifty and eighty thousand people, and was so well designed that it could fill to capacity in only fifteen minutes, and also empty in fifteen minutes. The word, arena, comes from the Latin word for sand which is "rena". They would cover the wooden or marble floor during events with sand, so they could clean it up easier afterwards.(If you can wrap your head around that?) There were twenty-one elevators beneath the floor, so the gladiators, Christians, or whoever was in play, never knew what was going to pop up. They averaged three hundred events each year for almost three hundred years! The top priority of the Emperors was to keep the citizens content and happy with them. Each citizen had a marble ID card, which signified your social status and allowed you access to all events and buildings. The guide went on to explain the magnitude of the effort involved to capture animals and prisoners from around the known world at the time to keep the games going. The Coliseum also served different style meals on different days, and if you think that this is impressive, somebody's theater about a mile from the Coliseum sat three hundred thousand people. I can go on and on about what we learned, but we can save all of that for picnic talk at our house when we get home.
Last night we went to the Trevi Fountain, which is simply stunning, and quite the tourist magnet. My Dad would be so happy that I stood at the exact place where Al Alberts sang "Three Coins in a Fountain." It's the scale, the concept, the function, the history, the design; everything about these beautiful sights and buildings that is amazing... We walked and walked, passing through piazza after piazza, all delightful and filled with ruins, history, atmosphere, fountains, and celebration. The constant beauty of each and every setting is quite amazing, and the City seems to be alive everywhere- alive like South Street, but without the filth, attitude, and decadence. Here, there is an ambiance, more of an appreciation of the good life- La Dolce Vita. Of course, we are spending night after night sitting in wonderful little cafes eating our pasta and pizza while really impressive street musicians serenade us, and countless vendors approach us trying to sell roses. I miss my home turf, but I will miss Roma.
I'm more bogged down than blogged out at this point as I approach the one month mark of my sojourn. I've enjoyed blogging, it's allowed me to "low talk" to myself as much as I wanted without Nancy or Monica saying that they can't hear me from the front or back of the van, and Lisa reaffirming this fact passionately with complete emotional life and death type of conviction. The suitcase existence is starting to get to me, but we still have a few things left to do with Aliyah here, and then off to Florence to catch our flight. I will try to finalize this blog with one more entry tomorrow. Until then, it's Ciao for Chow. Alberto, Liscillia, and Aliyaho
Julius' other favorite hangout was located in a place that shocked all of us. It was in the "Jewish Ghetto or Jewish Quarters", a small area where most of the oldest dated ruins and remains from very ancient Rome have been found. It turns out that Julius enjoyed the company of the Jews and offered protection for them. The story of this small area of Rome runs through many eras, but as you would expect, the history of what happened here in the 1930's and 1940's during the War is quite noteworthy...
I will say before going any further on this topic, that this is only the second place, with St. Francis's tomb being the first, where I have felt anything internally, any sense of vibration or stillness, but this feeling was not one of serenity. There was a silence in the few small blocks of the Ghetto that was uncanny, no, impossible not to feel. I felt as if the walls of the buildings were witnesses to horrific acts and tremendous torment, and they were speaking to me, screaming, crying. This was not a pleasant place.
The Catholic Church teaches about sins of commission and sins of omission: Things that you do, and things that you should have done. The more we read about the history of these Quarters, the more upsetting it was to understand the attitude and the ignorance that these people had to endure and live with. One Papal edict after edict throughout the centuries had subjected the Jews to hardship after hardship and left them with fewer rights than any good conscience could ever dream up. The only thing that came to mind was the plight of the Negro slaves in America. But, once again, when the Church not only turned its back and let the Nazis relocate over two thousand people to Auschwitz, from where only sixty-one returned, and then issued a Papal document explaining that it was in the interest of self preservation and prudence, it makes you wonder what exactly is the source of the real ignorance that allows an organization to live with a policy that dehumanizes a race. This was a pitiful place, and one that upset me tremendously. Of course, there were stories of good people and priests who risked their lives to help the Jews, but it did little to shift the focus from the hierarchy who ignored them.
Yesterday, we finally entered the Coliseum. Aliyah's friend, Musa, attached us to one of his tours and charged us only for the admission, which was very kind of him. We sat and listened to the excellent guide as she explained that exactly where we were sitting was once the site of Nero's statue, which stood taller than the Coliseum. The Emperor Nero burned down sixty percent of the City in sixty-four A.D. or thereabouts and blamed it on the Christians, who then became fair game for the events in the Coliseum and throughout the Empire. After he burned the City, he drained his private lake and it was there, next to his statue and palace, that they built the Coliseum.
The arena's scale is unbelievable, very much the size of the Phillies' ballpark or the Eagles'. It sat between fifty and eighty thousand people, and was so well designed that it could fill to capacity in only fifteen minutes, and also empty in fifteen minutes. The word, arena, comes from the Latin word for sand which is "rena". They would cover the wooden or marble floor during events with sand, so they could clean it up easier afterwards.(If you can wrap your head around that?) There were twenty-one elevators beneath the floor, so the gladiators, Christians, or whoever was in play, never knew what was going to pop up. They averaged three hundred events each year for almost three hundred years! The top priority of the Emperors was to keep the citizens content and happy with them. Each citizen had a marble ID card, which signified your social status and allowed you access to all events and buildings. The guide went on to explain the magnitude of the effort involved to capture animals and prisoners from around the known world at the time to keep the games going. The Coliseum also served different style meals on different days, and if you think that this is impressive, somebody's theater about a mile from the Coliseum sat three hundred thousand people. I can go on and on about what we learned, but we can save all of that for picnic talk at our house when we get home.
Last night we went to the Trevi Fountain, which is simply stunning, and quite the tourist magnet. My Dad would be so happy that I stood at the exact place where Al Alberts sang "Three Coins in a Fountain." It's the scale, the concept, the function, the history, the design; everything about these beautiful sights and buildings that is amazing... We walked and walked, passing through piazza after piazza, all delightful and filled with ruins, history, atmosphere, fountains, and celebration. The constant beauty of each and every setting is quite amazing, and the City seems to be alive everywhere- alive like South Street, but without the filth, attitude, and decadence. Here, there is an ambiance, more of an appreciation of the good life- La Dolce Vita. Of course, we are spending night after night sitting in wonderful little cafes eating our pasta and pizza while really impressive street musicians serenade us, and countless vendors approach us trying to sell roses. I miss my home turf, but I will miss Roma.
I'm more bogged down than blogged out at this point as I approach the one month mark of my sojourn. I've enjoyed blogging, it's allowed me to "low talk" to myself as much as I wanted without Nancy or Monica saying that they can't hear me from the front or back of the van, and Lisa reaffirming this fact passionately with complete emotional life and death type of conviction. The suitcase existence is starting to get to me, but we still have a few things left to do with Aliyah here, and then off to Florence to catch our flight. I will try to finalize this blog with one more entry tomorrow. Until then, it's Ciao for Chow. Alberto, Liscillia, and Aliyaho
The Roman Empire Right in Front of Me
We enter Rome after conquering other parts of Italy. Boy, do these people look good! A certain significant other of mine can’t stop looking at the Giorgio’s and Giuseppe’s until I remind her that the Maria’s and Julia’s that are attached to them look way better. I just don’t have the hair to be a good-looking Italian. (And, let’s not even start with the body image stuff already for God’s sake!) It’s that combed back look, not to mention the Ferrari sunglasses and designer clothes. Boy, do these people look good! I won’t get into an abridged twenty-page sidebar describing the women that have passed before my Roaming Roman Eyes! Luckily, I don’t have to pay roaming charges! (God, what a great line! Sometimes I even amaze myself)
I like Romans and I like Rome, or Roma, as it is called. I didn’t really tune into Florence very well and was glad to move on, (although I was flattered that they had buses with my last name as a destination on the electronic banner on the front of the bus, or was it some deep physic message calling me home), but Rome is home, sistas and bros, and it is very cool indeed! We are staying in a nice apartment (which is a relief after the shoebox saga) very close to the Vatican. The streets are beautifully tree lined and they remind me of Philadelphia’s Parkway, if it was also lined with well-done five story old stucco apartment buildings. It seems like a very well off area, but this City seems impressive no matter where you are. You just have to learn how and where to cross the streets as soon as you get here; it’s not New York traffic insanity, but there are swarms of scooters flying by at high speeds.
Aliyah is settled into the residence apartment that Temple U has provided for her, and has been getting to know some of her fellow students. Needless to say, it is easy to spot the Temple kids walking the streets in this area. It will take them a while to drop the reverse baseball hat look, complete with Phillies’ shirts and cut offs, and don the Armani look, but I am confident that they will morph into something more sophisticated as the weeks go on. They also have to learn how to handle their wine, which will be offered from morning till night without question. Of course, Aliyah’s crowd of dancers is very cool already, and at this point in time, Aliyah is not only Italian by birth, but she may have trouble finding her way back to the New World six weeks from now.
The sightseeing is already in full swing along with setting Aliyah up in her apartment for the summer session. She has some strong fellow dancers with her from Temple, one of whom has a boyfriend who is a tour guide, so she is getting some great commentary about all of the sights when she goes out with the girls. She has also fallen in love with an excellent dance school nearby which offers dance classes of all kinds, and at all ability levels.
We are not as privy to such astute historical insight as Aliyah, so we do the tourist thing and throw euros at it to see where it gets us. Today we bought the Vatican, as if they need another dime from anyone, ever! For whatever reason, I have come to the ultimate cathedral and it exhausted me! It was more than the weight of the place that crushed me. The magnificence of Italian religious art began in the small but intense churches in Arezzo. We then proceeded to Sicily, where the art was slightly less intense, but still magnificent. Then, we traveled to the grandeur of Florence, and the enormity of the great Duomo, once a world center, and all of the other magnificent churches, monasteries and museums. Even Sienna, Voterra, and San Giminigana had greater churches than anything I have ever seen in America. And, now to the source and mother load of all things church, Rome, where even a seemingly rough hole in the wall may lead to the most magnificent church you have ever seen. I haven’t been educated and inundated with historical facts about art history since my ex wife (I wanted to say Exlax) walked out thirty-three years ago, but I can tell you that these artists had some serious moments interpreting and tweaking the same stories over and over again; and then adding their subtle personal touches somewhere in the story. You can only process so much of this stuff, and after awhile it all blends into one.
But, today we went to the Sistine Chapel, The Vatican Museum, and St. Peter’s Basilica. I don’t know where to begin or end: Yes, it’s the light emanating from Michelangelo’s paintings, and the look on the faces, and the contour of the bodies, (especially the men) and the masterful representations of great inspirational Christian religious sagas, and the wonder of the glory of God in form and detail. I cracked up when the docent explained the resistance and defiance that Michelangelo had for the Pope who forced him to take on this after school art project, and how he put this Pope’s image at the bottom of the deepest hell in his Judgment Day masterpiece… And, St. Peter’s, the center of it all, elaborate beyond description with the scale of everything absolutely astounding. Yes, they definitely succeeded in separating themselves from Judaism, and it is apparent to me why the representation of forms is not allowed in any way in Islam. I just wonder what sweet, loving Jesus, may the blessings of God be upon him, would think about all of this. Would he take each and every piece of the Vatican and auction it off to the highest bidders, and then use all of the billions and billions to feed, house, and clothe the desperate souls on Earth?
Well, I will leave you with that thought today without going any further on this public forum. Speaking of forums, tomorrow we visit the Forum and finally, finally, I get to enter the Coliseum. (Here comes that Wide World of Sports Anthem again). I am also going to see if I can get a ticket to see Usain Bolt from Jamaica run the 100 meters in the Olympic Stadium on Thursday night. Europeans pack the stadiums for track and field, so it may be too costly, but I’m giving it a shot. Ciao for Chow. Alberto
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
The Shoe Box Diaries and Sweet St. Francis of Assisi
Tuesday, May 24, 2011 (Back on Line Again)
Not all rooms are created equal, and you never quite know exactly what you are buying over the Internet. After two weeks of more than adequate hotel existence, we arrived in Sienna where we had reserved our most expensive rental. On entrance to the lobby we were very impressed with the wonderful sunlit dining room and the surrounding garden, which was just as beautiful as advertised. The clerk was very friendly and assisted us to the second floor with our massive suitcases. Everything was setting up nicely for a wonderful stay in Sienna, from where we would embark for daily visits to various places in Tuscany….
Then, the door opened to our room! We walked into a six by six foot space with a spacious, modern bathroom off to the side, a small wooden desk, and two tiny wooden chairs. We immediately bumped into each other and the suitcases, and I almost crushed Aliyah who was stuck behind my behind. (which, as has been noted previously, is close to maximum at this juncture, or is it junk in the trunk, whatever that really means!) Taking up most of the room was a metal spiral staircase going up to a loft, which housed our double bed and a cot for Aliyah. It was nothing more than a high priced crash pad that would have been very suitable for three or four of my buddies and I to crash in during college. Now, I am married to a peanut person and I have a peanut daughter, and I am not exactly the size of Shaquille O’Neal, (at least in height) but we literally could not move or stay in this space at the same time. The worst part for me was the fact that there was nowhere to retreat to; you either had to stay in bed upstairs, or go down to the lobby and sit in the public area.
This was also a Rick Steves’ recommended “gem of a hotel”, so it was filled with a large percentage of Americans. Now, it’s nice to run into Americans occasionally, but when you get stuck in a coagulation of them, it somehow takes you to a different place- maybe Dallas or Chicago, or somewhere like that! We sit differently, communicate differently, and definitely act differently than the European sects, except for the Russians, who, as I have stated prior, are from another planet…. (This trip has convinced me that the Cold War was a very good thing!)
So, after the initial shock and a terse interaction with the manager, who obviously had received negative feedback about the size and misrepresentation of the room description many times prior, we decided to stick it out and make the best of it…. Then, Aliyah lay on her portable bed for the first time and felt two metal bars under her thin foam mattress. Luckily, she is quite light, so we folded a few extra blankets to cushion the mattress better, and it was deemed sleep able, but if anyone at all bigger than Aliyah’s size was given that bed to sleep on, it would have been impossible to do so….
And, so our stay began at Hotel Something or Other on the Southern perimeter of Sienna. Before I leave this subject I would like to tell you that my thrice nightly visits to the bathroom downstairs where adventurous to say the least. A spiral staircase is nothing more than a solution to a problem or a design choice; there is nothing wonderful about navigating one in the dark while half asleep and then climbing back up. I can’t imagine any senior citizen staying in one of these shoebox rooms, and I am too embarrassed to tell you what we paid for each night in Hotel Hell. (Are you happy now that I gave it a name?)
We did embark in our diesel powered, stick shift Peugeot for wonderful drives through Tuscany, sometimes getting a bit lost and not worrying about it too much. I would say that my traveling partners would whole-heartedly agree that the visit to Assisi to visit the tomb of St. Francis of Assisi was our favorite and most profound experience. I even coughed up some beloved euros to have a mass said for my Mother, who recently passed, at the tomb of St. Francis.
The quaint, little medieval town of Assisi will give your mountain climbing leg muscles a good workout like all of the others, but it is very quiet, uncrowded and very beautiful. The tomb of St. Francis has a peaceful vibration. This is the only vibration that I have felt anywhere in Italy. An entire circus of activity goes on in the upper and outer churches and courtyards above the crypt, but the tomb area is quiet.
We sat, prayed, and gave our greetings to St. Francis, who left a legacy of rejecting the preconceived norms of society, his blood ties, and his religion, and taught us, as all enlightened beings have, to work on shifting our focus from the outer, elemental world, to focus on the inner life, our true life, which is resonating within our hearts. He felt the calling of God alone in the quietude of nature, living simply off of what was provided each day in his path. He stands as a beacon of serenity and hope for all who heed to a different calling in life. His example is one which is found in every culture and in every belief system many times over; enlightened men and women who learned to listen to the intimate whisperings from deep within their hearts, which provided them with the correct nourishment needed to find real freedom and contentment. Yeah, St. Francis! (and Sister Claire, from just down the road, was no slouch either!)
So, Tuscany faded into the sunset as we flew down the Autostrada, Italy’s interstate system, toward the home of Romulus and Remus and River Tiber. Ah, but this we will save for another day. It’s time to eat again anyway, so don’t try to block me from my pasta! Ciao to Chow, Alberto Novellio
Not all rooms are created equal, and you never quite know exactly what you are buying over the Internet. After two weeks of more than adequate hotel existence, we arrived in Sienna where we had reserved our most expensive rental. On entrance to the lobby we were very impressed with the wonderful sunlit dining room and the surrounding garden, which was just as beautiful as advertised. The clerk was very friendly and assisted us to the second floor with our massive suitcases. Everything was setting up nicely for a wonderful stay in Sienna, from where we would embark for daily visits to various places in Tuscany….
Then, the door opened to our room! We walked into a six by six foot space with a spacious, modern bathroom off to the side, a small wooden desk, and two tiny wooden chairs. We immediately bumped into each other and the suitcases, and I almost crushed Aliyah who was stuck behind my behind. (which, as has been noted previously, is close to maximum at this juncture, or is it junk in the trunk, whatever that really means!) Taking up most of the room was a metal spiral staircase going up to a loft, which housed our double bed and a cot for Aliyah. It was nothing more than a high priced crash pad that would have been very suitable for three or four of my buddies and I to crash in during college. Now, I am married to a peanut person and I have a peanut daughter, and I am not exactly the size of Shaquille O’Neal, (at least in height) but we literally could not move or stay in this space at the same time. The worst part for me was the fact that there was nowhere to retreat to; you either had to stay in bed upstairs, or go down to the lobby and sit in the public area.
This was also a Rick Steves’ recommended “gem of a hotel”, so it was filled with a large percentage of Americans. Now, it’s nice to run into Americans occasionally, but when you get stuck in a coagulation of them, it somehow takes you to a different place- maybe Dallas or Chicago, or somewhere like that! We sit differently, communicate differently, and definitely act differently than the European sects, except for the Russians, who, as I have stated prior, are from another planet…. (This trip has convinced me that the Cold War was a very good thing!)
So, after the initial shock and a terse interaction with the manager, who obviously had received negative feedback about the size and misrepresentation of the room description many times prior, we decided to stick it out and make the best of it…. Then, Aliyah lay on her portable bed for the first time and felt two metal bars under her thin foam mattress. Luckily, she is quite light, so we folded a few extra blankets to cushion the mattress better, and it was deemed sleep able, but if anyone at all bigger than Aliyah’s size was given that bed to sleep on, it would have been impossible to do so….
And, so our stay began at Hotel Something or Other on the Southern perimeter of Sienna. Before I leave this subject I would like to tell you that my thrice nightly visits to the bathroom downstairs where adventurous to say the least. A spiral staircase is nothing more than a solution to a problem or a design choice; there is nothing wonderful about navigating one in the dark while half asleep and then climbing back up. I can’t imagine any senior citizen staying in one of these shoebox rooms, and I am too embarrassed to tell you what we paid for each night in Hotel Hell. (Are you happy now that I gave it a name?)
We did embark in our diesel powered, stick shift Peugeot for wonderful drives through Tuscany, sometimes getting a bit lost and not worrying about it too much. I would say that my traveling partners would whole-heartedly agree that the visit to Assisi to visit the tomb of St. Francis of Assisi was our favorite and most profound experience. I even coughed up some beloved euros to have a mass said for my Mother, who recently passed, at the tomb of St. Francis.
The quaint, little medieval town of Assisi will give your mountain climbing leg muscles a good workout like all of the others, but it is very quiet, uncrowded and very beautiful. The tomb of St. Francis has a peaceful vibration. This is the only vibration that I have felt anywhere in Italy. An entire circus of activity goes on in the upper and outer churches and courtyards above the crypt, but the tomb area is quiet.
We sat, prayed, and gave our greetings to St. Francis, who left a legacy of rejecting the preconceived norms of society, his blood ties, and his religion, and taught us, as all enlightened beings have, to work on shifting our focus from the outer, elemental world, to focus on the inner life, our true life, which is resonating within our hearts. He felt the calling of God alone in the quietude of nature, living simply off of what was provided each day in his path. He stands as a beacon of serenity and hope for all who heed to a different calling in life. His example is one which is found in every culture and in every belief system many times over; enlightened men and women who learned to listen to the intimate whisperings from deep within their hearts, which provided them with the correct nourishment needed to find real freedom and contentment. Yeah, St. Francis! (and Sister Claire, from just down the road, was no slouch either!)
So, Tuscany faded into the sunset as we flew down the Autostrada, Italy’s interstate system, toward the home of Romulus and Remus and River Tiber. Ah, but this we will save for another day. It’s time to eat again anyway, so don’t try to block me from my pasta! Ciao to Chow, Alberto Novellio
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Tuscany from Heaven- Florence from Man
This blog began with the wonderment associated with walking through the Tuscan paradise, and today after two interesting days in Florence, we have returned to the glory of it all. Wandering through the medieval fortresses of Volterra and San Giminagnano was a great thrill, complete with scaling the highest towers in each town, but once again it was the panoramic beauty of the Tuscan hills and vales which took our breath away.
Some places are just more beautiful than others, and Tuscany is at the top of the list. We drove and drove in our stick shift, diesel powered Peugeot station wagon, which only had 450 miles on it when I rented it. We drove for hours up and down, around and through; up one mountain and down the other side, and all the while the sun and clouds playing hide and seek provided us with the most awe inspiring and absolutely heavenly vistas. The veils of sunshine illuminated vast areas of landscape, and the different perspectives exposed by the light and shade were other worldly. God forces you to pay attention here.
The cultivation here is different than Sicily's at this time of year. Yes, there are thousands and thousands of acres planted in grapes and olive trees, but the majority of the topography is covered in windswept, verdant Spring wheat; so, not only do your visual senses overload with the richness of color, but at times it is also all in motion when the gentle breezes blow. It is nothing short of breathtaking, which I know I have used many, many times in this blog to date. I am at heart, not a city boy, but function best in the vastness of open spaces; so for me there is never enough time to become connected with the natural elements of air and earth in the middle of nowhere, going nowhere, plodding toward freedom in some way, shape, or form-becoming one with seas of green. Whether he was rich or poor, in good health or bad, Hesse's Siddhartha would always come back to the same three principles to ground himself and become centered in his soul again, which were: "No matter what, I can sit, I can think, and I can fast." Walking aimlessly, on and on into the vastness of an unending ocean of hip high spring wheat with a steady breeze cooling you as you go on and on into the openness; the canopy above a ceiling of blueberry sky that is almost drinkable, is as simple and uncomplicated as it gets, and allowed me to feel connected and centered. This sensory ablution only made me think of...." I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats o'er hills and vales, when all at once i saw a crowd, a host of golden daffodils: fluttering and dancing in the breeze, tossing their heads with sprightly ease..." I'm a little rusty, but you get the point.
We tired, so we stopped on a country road going nowhere and found a nice spot in a huge olive grove to take a nap. This to me is vacationing; sleeping quietly in the middle of nowhere with ancient olive trees providing shade for a weary family. It also provided relief from some of the family stresses and triggers, which go hand in hand with the word, familiarity. Our family seems to constantly misspell the word, compatible, instead spelling combatible, which isn't even a word! Deen is sorely missed, but I am sore enough without him. I know I am a descendant of some form of Italian Catholic martyrdom, and therefore capable of tolerating hours and hours of self denial and abuse, but the mental and emotional stoning and flogging does get out of hand. At times I seem to be the Mount Everest of trouble and all things gone wrong. In our family dynamic all roads really do lead back to the Roman! I mean, Aliyah can get a mosquito bite sitting in the car, and somehow it is my fault, or she can misplace a Q Tip, and in some way I did something twenty years ago that is connected to this life changing calamity! Oh, the wonder of it all! One of my favorite Shiffrinisms from years ago which Rob would always blurt out in moments of impossible family craze was, "Don't get married, don't have kids!"
Speaking of Romans: As I rested, I did have thoughts once again of ancient Romans resting in the olive groves after pillaging some lesser opponent and beheading the whole place for fun on their way back to Rome. The sleep was just a bit restless! ( Something inside of me keeps stirring about entering Rome. It's the Maximus thing again-that damn movie! I don't even want to see anything other than the Collesseum when we get there, and that damn Wide World of Sports or Olympic Anthem keeps pounding in my head also!
This experience makes me think about how difficult it must have been for my Grandfather and his brothers to leave their farmland in Abruzzo in 1917 and get on a boat bound for the promise land called America. They only came to Philadelphia because they needed workers to build the Ben Franklin Bridge, (according to Novelli folklore), so that is how the family came to reside there. As a young boy I remember the two small cement planters in the eight by eight foot cement back yard of my Grandfather's South Philadelphia row house, where he had two wonderful fig trees planted. He would rap his two little babies with tar paper in the winter time so they would make it through the harsh Philadelphia winters. He also made his own wine in the basement, and it was a great joy to drink grape juice right out of the spigot when the fermenting process was just beginning. But, in reality, he was, as I am, merely a misplaced farmer, who would have contentedly sat in the shade contemplating about the simplicity and natural order of the Universe. Instead, he was caught in the machinery of the industrial devolution and now I am caught in a microprocessed devolution! Perhaps my son's son will one day return to the natural order of our ancestors.
My step Grandmother, ( I was too young when my natural Grandmother died and we were living in LA, dude- I was much cooler than all of you, even then!)( we thought my Grandfather was kidding when he went back to Italy to get another wife at age 78 or something), anyway, my Step Grandmother, Madia they called her, was a nice old lady from Abruzzo who had altars and shrines all over the house with hundreds of candles burning day and night. We never knew how she did not burn the house down, because she had linen doilies, or whatever they were called, underneath all the jam packed candles. These shrines to the Virgin Mary and Jesus where in every room, but the kitchen was where the real action was: It was there that she had many, many strings of garlic hanging with red and gold Italian horns strung together, which drove away the demons and evil spirits. (Unfortunately, she didn't do that great a job on me!) We always thought that she used enough garlic cooking to kill anything within a few hundred feet anyway. She was a really nice lady who respected our family and loyally took care of my Grandfather until his death. They were the real deal, the original items.
I should go back a day or two when blogspot was not functioning and talk a bit about the former center of the world's intellectual and artistic movements, Florence, Italy...... Yes, the home of the great Duomo, second only to the Vatican, I believe, Florence is a great place to visit for a few days. Yes, it is a city, but the frescos, museums, and buildings of course are everywhere. It is also a great destination city, so it is jumping with activity of all sorts, and filled with people on the move. The center of it all is the amazing Duomo (church), which is one of the many great wonders of Italian architecture. It is the center of the city and the central location from which all activity seems to generate. It must be seen, to believe, so google it up. The immensity itself is mind boggling, and on a beautiful Sunday like the one we spent there, it is mobbed.
Of course, art, music, intellect, architecture, and culture should be the primary focus when visiting one of the great cities of the world, however, for my loved ones, the shopping bazaars and countless shops took center stage. Ah, yes, back to the beloved euro we go. My love affair with this wonderful currency just won't stop! Yes, the euros were flying away faster than I could count, but the crazed, supposedly joyous looks on my beloveds' faces were priceless. It was better than a Mastercard commercial. Yes, there were leather items and bracelets and scarves and hand painted writing paper and hats and boots, and soccer banners, and hazeri and chachkees and many other broken Yiddish depictions! ( Where's Reba when you need her!)
Don't get me wrong, we did visit quite a few important places in Florence. One particular museum/courtyard, a former monastery and church, was a fresco paradise that dated back centuries, but the thing that caught our eye as we entered was a marble tomb cover with the names' Orloff and Wentzel inscribed on it. Orloff is my brother in laws' family name and it is Jewish as is Wentzel. We asked the museum director who they were and she told us that they were one of the powerful aristocratic families who governed Florence. This was a fascinating footnote for us, and one that I am sure will provoke much discussion at our family gatherings in the future.
So, the blogging goes to date. I will tell you more about the medieval towns when I return. Until then, signing off from Sienna, where the main piazza is also one of those one of a kind, centuries old wonders that must be googled to be understood. Ciao from Chow Man
Some places are just more beautiful than others, and Tuscany is at the top of the list. We drove and drove in our stick shift, diesel powered Peugeot station wagon, which only had 450 miles on it when I rented it. We drove for hours up and down, around and through; up one mountain and down the other side, and all the while the sun and clouds playing hide and seek provided us with the most awe inspiring and absolutely heavenly vistas. The veils of sunshine illuminated vast areas of landscape, and the different perspectives exposed by the light and shade were other worldly. God forces you to pay attention here.
The cultivation here is different than Sicily's at this time of year. Yes, there are thousands and thousands of acres planted in grapes and olive trees, but the majority of the topography is covered in windswept, verdant Spring wheat; so, not only do your visual senses overload with the richness of color, but at times it is also all in motion when the gentle breezes blow. It is nothing short of breathtaking, which I know I have used many, many times in this blog to date. I am at heart, not a city boy, but function best in the vastness of open spaces; so for me there is never enough time to become connected with the natural elements of air and earth in the middle of nowhere, going nowhere, plodding toward freedom in some way, shape, or form-becoming one with seas of green. Whether he was rich or poor, in good health or bad, Hesse's Siddhartha would always come back to the same three principles to ground himself and become centered in his soul again, which were: "No matter what, I can sit, I can think, and I can fast." Walking aimlessly, on and on into the vastness of an unending ocean of hip high spring wheat with a steady breeze cooling you as you go on and on into the openness; the canopy above a ceiling of blueberry sky that is almost drinkable, is as simple and uncomplicated as it gets, and allowed me to feel connected and centered. This sensory ablution only made me think of...." I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats o'er hills and vales, when all at once i saw a crowd, a host of golden daffodils: fluttering and dancing in the breeze, tossing their heads with sprightly ease..." I'm a little rusty, but you get the point.
We tired, so we stopped on a country road going nowhere and found a nice spot in a huge olive grove to take a nap. This to me is vacationing; sleeping quietly in the middle of nowhere with ancient olive trees providing shade for a weary family. It also provided relief from some of the family stresses and triggers, which go hand in hand with the word, familiarity. Our family seems to constantly misspell the word, compatible, instead spelling combatible, which isn't even a word! Deen is sorely missed, but I am sore enough without him. I know I am a descendant of some form of Italian Catholic martyrdom, and therefore capable of tolerating hours and hours of self denial and abuse, but the mental and emotional stoning and flogging does get out of hand. At times I seem to be the Mount Everest of trouble and all things gone wrong. In our family dynamic all roads really do lead back to the Roman! I mean, Aliyah can get a mosquito bite sitting in the car, and somehow it is my fault, or she can misplace a Q Tip, and in some way I did something twenty years ago that is connected to this life changing calamity! Oh, the wonder of it all! One of my favorite Shiffrinisms from years ago which Rob would always blurt out in moments of impossible family craze was, "Don't get married, don't have kids!"
Speaking of Romans: As I rested, I did have thoughts once again of ancient Romans resting in the olive groves after pillaging some lesser opponent and beheading the whole place for fun on their way back to Rome. The sleep was just a bit restless! ( Something inside of me keeps stirring about entering Rome. It's the Maximus thing again-that damn movie! I don't even want to see anything other than the Collesseum when we get there, and that damn Wide World of Sports or Olympic Anthem keeps pounding in my head also!
This experience makes me think about how difficult it must have been for my Grandfather and his brothers to leave their farmland in Abruzzo in 1917 and get on a boat bound for the promise land called America. They only came to Philadelphia because they needed workers to build the Ben Franklin Bridge, (according to Novelli folklore), so that is how the family came to reside there. As a young boy I remember the two small cement planters in the eight by eight foot cement back yard of my Grandfather's South Philadelphia row house, where he had two wonderful fig trees planted. He would rap his two little babies with tar paper in the winter time so they would make it through the harsh Philadelphia winters. He also made his own wine in the basement, and it was a great joy to drink grape juice right out of the spigot when the fermenting process was just beginning. But, in reality, he was, as I am, merely a misplaced farmer, who would have contentedly sat in the shade contemplating about the simplicity and natural order of the Universe. Instead, he was caught in the machinery of the industrial devolution and now I am caught in a microprocessed devolution! Perhaps my son's son will one day return to the natural order of our ancestors.
My step Grandmother, ( I was too young when my natural Grandmother died and we were living in LA, dude- I was much cooler than all of you, even then!)( we thought my Grandfather was kidding when he went back to Italy to get another wife at age 78 or something), anyway, my Step Grandmother, Madia they called her, was a nice old lady from Abruzzo who had altars and shrines all over the house with hundreds of candles burning day and night. We never knew how she did not burn the house down, because she had linen doilies, or whatever they were called, underneath all the jam packed candles. These shrines to the Virgin Mary and Jesus where in every room, but the kitchen was where the real action was: It was there that she had many, many strings of garlic hanging with red and gold Italian horns strung together, which drove away the demons and evil spirits. (Unfortunately, she didn't do that great a job on me!) We always thought that she used enough garlic cooking to kill anything within a few hundred feet anyway. She was a really nice lady who respected our family and loyally took care of my Grandfather until his death. They were the real deal, the original items.
I should go back a day or two when blogspot was not functioning and talk a bit about the former center of the world's intellectual and artistic movements, Florence, Italy...... Yes, the home of the great Duomo, second only to the Vatican, I believe, Florence is a great place to visit for a few days. Yes, it is a city, but the frescos, museums, and buildings of course are everywhere. It is also a great destination city, so it is jumping with activity of all sorts, and filled with people on the move. The center of it all is the amazing Duomo (church), which is one of the many great wonders of Italian architecture. It is the center of the city and the central location from which all activity seems to generate. It must be seen, to believe, so google it up. The immensity itself is mind boggling, and on a beautiful Sunday like the one we spent there, it is mobbed.
Of course, art, music, intellect, architecture, and culture should be the primary focus when visiting one of the great cities of the world, however, for my loved ones, the shopping bazaars and countless shops took center stage. Ah, yes, back to the beloved euro we go. My love affair with this wonderful currency just won't stop! Yes, the euros were flying away faster than I could count, but the crazed, supposedly joyous looks on my beloveds' faces were priceless. It was better than a Mastercard commercial. Yes, there were leather items and bracelets and scarves and hand painted writing paper and hats and boots, and soccer banners, and hazeri and chachkees and many other broken Yiddish depictions! ( Where's Reba when you need her!)
Don't get me wrong, we did visit quite a few important places in Florence. One particular museum/courtyard, a former monastery and church, was a fresco paradise that dated back centuries, but the thing that caught our eye as we entered was a marble tomb cover with the names' Orloff and Wentzel inscribed on it. Orloff is my brother in laws' family name and it is Jewish as is Wentzel. We asked the museum director who they were and she told us that they were one of the powerful aristocratic families who governed Florence. This was a fascinating footnote for us, and one that I am sure will provoke much discussion at our family gatherings in the future.
So, the blogging goes to date. I will tell you more about the medieval towns when I return. Until then, signing off from Sienna, where the main piazza is also one of those one of a kind, centuries old wonders that must be googled to be understood. Ciao from Chow Man
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Time To Say Goodbye Sweet Sicily
Well, we have left Sicily and we are crying about it. With an unlimited bank account we could have stayed for a month easily. The air, sunshine, sea, countryside, and people all combined to make it one of the most fulfilling experiences that you could expect to have. Our final three days in San Vito lo Capo were quiet and serene. This area is known for its beautiful beaches and the clearest waters in Sicily, and it did not disappoint. The water was warmer because it was not more than five feet deep for the first one hundred yards from any beach, and it was swimmable. May is the perfect time to visit Sicily, before the Sicilians and Italian mainlanders themselves start flocking to the vacation areas in June, July and August, and I would assume that September is also an excellent time. Sicily is like the Bahamas, Puerto Rico, and Southern California rolled into one, but without speed limits!
The only thing that stood in my way of a one hundred percent positive experience was the food. Yes, believe it or not, Sicilian food was not at all what I expected. Now, keep in mind that we were primarily on the Northwestern and Western parts of the Island, the couscous center of Sicily, so it may have been different in other areas, but aside from the pizza, which was incredibly good everywhere we went, the cuisine was not to my liking. The pasta sauce was not based on tomatoes, but seemed to be mostly a heavy, crude oil spill with chopped up little pieces of eggplant, almonds, and a few other greasy things. After a few sleepless nights I gave up experimentation with the menu items and just kept ordering caprese salads or caprese sandwiches, which were made with tomatoes, basil, olive oil, mozzarella, and oregano. This seemed to digest well enough to allow me to sleep.
So, my scorecard goes: Sicilian bread-outstanding everywhere, pizza-outstanding everywhere, tomatoes-the best ever, tuna and seafood-fresh, but thinly cut, pasta and couscous dishes-yuck, prices, like all of Italy-ridiculous! Everything is ala carte’ from the first basket of bread and water, which they have made into an art form. Our favorite line from the waiters was, “Gas or Naturale?” (I don’t even have to tell you what my jaded mind was thinking when they asked this.) A piece of fish is ten to fifteen euros-the salad is seven or eight euros-the bread is three euros-the water is two euros-the pasta is ten euros, and on and on it goes. So, you end up spending fifty or sixty American dollars constantly, if you don’t know what you are doing. Throw in some dessert and a café latte or two and you are up to seventy or even eighty dollars, and that may be just lunch! It’s one thing if you are in Tuscany, where the food is mouthwatering, and you have some confidence about what you will get, but to pay twelve or fifteen euros for a dish of vegetarian couscous, blows my mind. The current conversion rate of exchange has our dollar worth only sixty-two cents, so you can figure out what my side plate of couscous really cost.
There is one thing about Sicilian food that Aliyah would want me to emphasize: The desserts were the best she has had in Italy. Not the gelato, which she claims is better in Arezzo, but the cookies and pastries. Sicily grows almonds, so Sicilian cookies are made with an almond paste, which is her favorite. She also loves marzipan, which was everywhere, so she was in almond heaven. They also have numerous ricotta filled pastries, which she could not find in Arezzo, but it was the connolis that blew her mind. They were the best she has ever had, filled with the lightest ricotta filling, like nothing we have at home.
Yes, Sicily would definitely be a place worth returning to. I am not a seasoned, well- versed world traveler, but with my limited perspective I can tell you that this is a wonderful place, a beautiful place filled with background and interesting places. No, it is not the center of the Italian universe of art, intellect, history, background, and culture, but it is a remarkable place very much worth visiting with friendly, friendly people and beautiful elements. Ciao for Now, Senore' Alberto Novelli
The only thing that stood in my way of a one hundred percent positive experience was the food. Yes, believe it or not, Sicilian food was not at all what I expected. Now, keep in mind that we were primarily on the Northwestern and Western parts of the Island, the couscous center of Sicily, so it may have been different in other areas, but aside from the pizza, which was incredibly good everywhere we went, the cuisine was not to my liking. The pasta sauce was not based on tomatoes, but seemed to be mostly a heavy, crude oil spill with chopped up little pieces of eggplant, almonds, and a few other greasy things. After a few sleepless nights I gave up experimentation with the menu items and just kept ordering caprese salads or caprese sandwiches, which were made with tomatoes, basil, olive oil, mozzarella, and oregano. This seemed to digest well enough to allow me to sleep.
So, my scorecard goes: Sicilian bread-outstanding everywhere, pizza-outstanding everywhere, tomatoes-the best ever, tuna and seafood-fresh, but thinly cut, pasta and couscous dishes-yuck, prices, like all of Italy-ridiculous! Everything is ala carte’ from the first basket of bread and water, which they have made into an art form. Our favorite line from the waiters was, “Gas or Naturale?” (I don’t even have to tell you what my jaded mind was thinking when they asked this.) A piece of fish is ten to fifteen euros-the salad is seven or eight euros-the bread is three euros-the water is two euros-the pasta is ten euros, and on and on it goes. So, you end up spending fifty or sixty American dollars constantly, if you don’t know what you are doing. Throw in some dessert and a café latte or two and you are up to seventy or even eighty dollars, and that may be just lunch! It’s one thing if you are in Tuscany, where the food is mouthwatering, and you have some confidence about what you will get, but to pay twelve or fifteen euros for a dish of vegetarian couscous, blows my mind. The current conversion rate of exchange has our dollar worth only sixty-two cents, so you can figure out what my side plate of couscous really cost.
There is one thing about Sicilian food that Aliyah would want me to emphasize: The desserts were the best she has had in Italy. Not the gelato, which she claims is better in Arezzo, but the cookies and pastries. Sicily grows almonds, so Sicilian cookies are made with an almond paste, which is her favorite. She also loves marzipan, which was everywhere, so she was in almond heaven. They also have numerous ricotta filled pastries, which she could not find in Arezzo, but it was the connolis that blew her mind. They were the best she has ever had, filled with the lightest ricotta filling, like nothing we have at home.
Yes, Sicily would definitely be a place worth returning to. I am not a seasoned, well- versed world traveler, but with my limited perspective I can tell you that this is a wonderful place, a beautiful place filled with background and interesting places. No, it is not the center of the Italian universe of art, intellect, history, background, and culture, but it is a remarkable place very much worth visiting with friendly, friendly people and beautiful elements. Ciao for Now, Senore' Alberto Novelli
Friday, May 13, 2011
The Wonder of Scala Dei Turchi on the Southwestern Shore
Aliyah and I will surely miss Sicily and the wonderful people we've met. They are so animated and alive, and as friendly as you could ever expect. We haven't encountered any rudeness from anyone. Even Roberto, the cab driver who came and found us when we got tired of waiting for him, was not being rude. He was upset about the principle of the matter- they do have an honor code here that we could never even attempt to enforce in the USA: They never ask you to pay when you order food or beverages, even gasoline. You only pay when you are finished, and this code is rarely if ever violated.
After a night in Marsala, our hotel clerk suggested that we head for a place called Scala Dei Turchi, one of the must see natural wonders in Sicily. The place gets its name from a distant time when the Turks either invaded or conquered Sicily. From far out at sea they spotted what appeared to be white steps leading up the steep cliffs from the shoreline. When they came ashore they were amazed at the natural white stairways leading up the side of the steep cliffs, thus the name forevermore, Stairs of the Turks.
After a two hour drive averaging about 120 kilometers (does anyone know how fast I was going? My top speed was 140 k in my stick shift Fiat, and cars were flying by me) we arrived at Scala Dei Turchi. (You will have to tune into the next blog, which will contain many pictures of this amazing place, or just google it.) The coastline itself in this part of Sicily is stunning with huge cliffs and the most beautiful Mediterranean waters. But, without a doubt, this natural phenomena is something very unique. The white cliffs are actually clay and it is such a brilliant white that it is almost blinding in the bright sun. There was a big professional photo shoot crew there complete with models when we arrived, so we just blended in with them and some really funny high school boys who entertained everyone by diving off of the rocks into the cold waters. After much prodding, I finally convinced Aliyah to jump in which she did. It was refreshing but too cold for her, so some of the boys happily helped her out and back onto the smooth rocks.
After we’d had our fill of the cliffs, the sun, and the sea, we then needed to find a place to stay. We didn’t go very far when we saw a sign for a bed and breakfast right on the beach, so we stopped and rang the bell. A nice little Italian lady opened the electronic gate and showed us around her family’s “summer home” as she put it. It was very elegant with almost twenty-foot high ceilings, huge fifteen-foot mahogany doors, absolutely classic turn of the Century Italian Deco floor tiles, and filled with antiques. But, the best parts were the air blowing right off of the sea, a gorgeous thirty foot by fifteen foot long balcony right off of our bedroom, and a grape, olive, and fig tree garden to die for down below. She even agreed to make us eggs in the morning if we stayed. (footnote time: Italians never eat protein for breakfast- in fact, it is even minimal at most meals except for their overall addiction to sliced Italian ham. It seems as if the entire country exists on cappuccino, croissants, pasta and bread.) We met two gold jewelry brokers, who were staying in the room downstairs, at breakfast and they immediately told me that they were Philadelphia 76er’s fans, and they loved Andre Iguodala. I told them that they could have him for free! They were nice guys that loved American basketball, so they ran into the right person. We discussed each other’s economic systems and the current state of affairs, like how impossible it is to live in Milan, Italy no matter how many euros you make. They also said that their business was hanging on for dear life, as the price of gold has made buying gold jewelry prohibitive at this point in time. All in all, it was a very nice encounter, and they could not believe that Aliyah went to Kobe Bryant’s high school.
After breakfast we all said out goodbyes to Maria, the owner, and Aliyah and I headed to nearby Agregento, where the Valley of the Temples is located to walk through some of the best preserved Greek ruins anywhere. Wait till I tell my former Greek students that the Italians have better Greek ruins than they do in their own motherland.
The walk through the ruins in Agregento was really fascinating. As per usual, the Carthaginians beat up the Greeks, the Romans beat them up, then the temples were exorcised by Catholics, who made them holy, and the British finally preserved them until the Italians thought they could make a buck out of it. We climbed and took many photos and walked miles and miles. Aliyah got her best laugh of the day in when I stepped down on the last step at the Temple of Hercules, tripped and twisted my ankle. Luckily, my extreme athleticism and agility kept me from getting injured. There were many French people and many Russians, both of which were not very appealing to me. I didn’t like the French demeanor and the Russians were from another planet. My good neighbor, Janusc, has told me story after story about the many cultural and behavioral subtleties that diversify the European races, so I must admit to having a few preconceived Bulgarian colored opinions prior to encountering these two particular groups. In fact, I almost pulled off a classic George Bush comment when the lady at the ticket counter said that Aliyah couldn’t get in for free because we were not members of the Greater European Union. I wanted to retort with no consideration or objective thought processes operative whatsoever, “ We protect the entire European Union, wherever that is!” Yeah, I know, thinking it is not doing it, but I wanted to. We took many photos of the ruins and also of the huge sculptures of the Greek gods that the Italians have nicely incorporated into the ruins. Of course, we couldn’t help zooming in on the penises and breasts for shock effect. Remember, only my students have moved on from eighth grade.
It was then time to play zoom,zoom,zoom again in our little stick shift Fiat, and off we flew on the Sicilian interstate north toward San Vito lo Capo, another paradise on the Northern Coast of Sicily. I keep thinking how much my son, Deen, your current source for all things wattage, would love to drive this little Fiat. Perhaps a father and son road trip is in the cards someday, but I’m sure Deen would bump me up to a BMW or Maserati. The drive through the Sicilian heartland must be described: Miles and miles of beautifully contoured farms, without a foot wasted; mile after mile of grapes, olives, almond trees, and citrus. Hills and vales, hills and vales- Sicily is beautiful! All of Italy is so pleasing to the eye. You just can’t get enough of it; the mountains are huge, and the terracotta topped houses clinging to the cliffs in little clusters blend in seamlessly. The abundance is apparent. The love of the earth and the respectful relationship with it are primarily what the Italians are all about. The people have voted almost ninety-nine percent against starting any nuclear energy program. When was the last time, we had the right to vote against a government initiative and had a real voice in what goes on? We are ruled by our government, and the corporations who rule it!
Well, without souring on our country’s state of affairs, or letting it taint my vacation, I will sign off for now. We are on the final leg of this part of the adventure, slowly getting ready to intercept Lisa in Florence on Sunday. It is another really sunny and hot day here in San Vito Lo Capo, where the waters are clear Caribbean blue- crystal clear! We haven’t seen or felt a drop of rain in ten days. Please check out the next blog or the one prior to this to view the photos. Ciao
After a night in Marsala, our hotel clerk suggested that we head for a place called Scala Dei Turchi, one of the must see natural wonders in Sicily. The place gets its name from a distant time when the Turks either invaded or conquered Sicily. From far out at sea they spotted what appeared to be white steps leading up the steep cliffs from the shoreline. When they came ashore they were amazed at the natural white stairways leading up the side of the steep cliffs, thus the name forevermore, Stairs of the Turks.
After a two hour drive averaging about 120 kilometers (does anyone know how fast I was going? My top speed was 140 k in my stick shift Fiat, and cars were flying by me) we arrived at Scala Dei Turchi. (You will have to tune into the next blog, which will contain many pictures of this amazing place, or just google it.) The coastline itself in this part of Sicily is stunning with huge cliffs and the most beautiful Mediterranean waters. But, without a doubt, this natural phenomena is something very unique. The white cliffs are actually clay and it is such a brilliant white that it is almost blinding in the bright sun. There was a big professional photo shoot crew there complete with models when we arrived, so we just blended in with them and some really funny high school boys who entertained everyone by diving off of the rocks into the cold waters. After much prodding, I finally convinced Aliyah to jump in which she did. It was refreshing but too cold for her, so some of the boys happily helped her out and back onto the smooth rocks.
After we’d had our fill of the cliffs, the sun, and the sea, we then needed to find a place to stay. We didn’t go very far when we saw a sign for a bed and breakfast right on the beach, so we stopped and rang the bell. A nice little Italian lady opened the electronic gate and showed us around her family’s “summer home” as she put it. It was very elegant with almost twenty-foot high ceilings, huge fifteen-foot mahogany doors, absolutely classic turn of the Century Italian Deco floor tiles, and filled with antiques. But, the best parts were the air blowing right off of the sea, a gorgeous thirty foot by fifteen foot long balcony right off of our bedroom, and a grape, olive, and fig tree garden to die for down below. She even agreed to make us eggs in the morning if we stayed. (footnote time: Italians never eat protein for breakfast- in fact, it is even minimal at most meals except for their overall addiction to sliced Italian ham. It seems as if the entire country exists on cappuccino, croissants, pasta and bread.) We met two gold jewelry brokers, who were staying in the room downstairs, at breakfast and they immediately told me that they were Philadelphia 76er’s fans, and they loved Andre Iguodala. I told them that they could have him for free! They were nice guys that loved American basketball, so they ran into the right person. We discussed each other’s economic systems and the current state of affairs, like how impossible it is to live in Milan, Italy no matter how many euros you make. They also said that their business was hanging on for dear life, as the price of gold has made buying gold jewelry prohibitive at this point in time. All in all, it was a very nice encounter, and they could not believe that Aliyah went to Kobe Bryant’s high school.
After breakfast we all said out goodbyes to Maria, the owner, and Aliyah and I headed to nearby Agregento, where the Valley of the Temples is located to walk through some of the best preserved Greek ruins anywhere. Wait till I tell my former Greek students that the Italians have better Greek ruins than they do in their own motherland.
The walk through the ruins in Agregento was really fascinating. As per usual, the Carthaginians beat up the Greeks, the Romans beat them up, then the temples were exorcised by Catholics, who made them holy, and the British finally preserved them until the Italians thought they could make a buck out of it. We climbed and took many photos and walked miles and miles. Aliyah got her best laugh of the day in when I stepped down on the last step at the Temple of Hercules, tripped and twisted my ankle. Luckily, my extreme athleticism and agility kept me from getting injured. There were many French people and many Russians, both of which were not very appealing to me. I didn’t like the French demeanor and the Russians were from another planet. My good neighbor, Janusc, has told me story after story about the many cultural and behavioral subtleties that diversify the European races, so I must admit to having a few preconceived Bulgarian colored opinions prior to encountering these two particular groups. In fact, I almost pulled off a classic George Bush comment when the lady at the ticket counter said that Aliyah couldn’t get in for free because we were not members of the Greater European Union. I wanted to retort with no consideration or objective thought processes operative whatsoever, “ We protect the entire European Union, wherever that is!” Yeah, I know, thinking it is not doing it, but I wanted to. We took many photos of the ruins and also of the huge sculptures of the Greek gods that the Italians have nicely incorporated into the ruins. Of course, we couldn’t help zooming in on the penises and breasts for shock effect. Remember, only my students have moved on from eighth grade.
It was then time to play zoom,zoom,zoom again in our little stick shift Fiat, and off we flew on the Sicilian interstate north toward San Vito lo Capo, another paradise on the Northern Coast of Sicily. I keep thinking how much my son, Deen, your current source for all things wattage, would love to drive this little Fiat. Perhaps a father and son road trip is in the cards someday, but I’m sure Deen would bump me up to a BMW or Maserati. The drive through the Sicilian heartland must be described: Miles and miles of beautifully contoured farms, without a foot wasted; mile after mile of grapes, olives, almond trees, and citrus. Hills and vales, hills and vales- Sicily is beautiful! All of Italy is so pleasing to the eye. You just can’t get enough of it; the mountains are huge, and the terracotta topped houses clinging to the cliffs in little clusters blend in seamlessly. The abundance is apparent. The love of the earth and the respectful relationship with it are primarily what the Italians are all about. The people have voted almost ninety-nine percent against starting any nuclear energy program. When was the last time, we had the right to vote against a government initiative and had a real voice in what goes on? We are ruled by our government, and the corporations who rule it!
Well, without souring on our country’s state of affairs, or letting it taint my vacation, I will sign off for now. We are on the final leg of this part of the adventure, slowly getting ready to intercept Lisa in Florence on Sunday. It is another really sunny and hot day here in San Vito Lo Capo, where the waters are clear Caribbean blue- crystal clear! We haven’t seen or felt a drop of rain in ten days. Please check out the next blog or the one prior to this to view the photos. Ciao
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