Monthly Archives: July 2008

Roadkill

28 Monday Jul 2008

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No, no pictures of dead animals here, I promise, so read on…

And why are there no pictures? There is little roadkill here, that’s why. It always shocks me when I go back to the States and see so many dead animals on the road, from small (squirrels) to huge (deer, moose). And how frequently the almost sweet, almost sickening smell of skunk wafts over the highway during a summer evening’s drive in New England, becoming suffocating as you get near the poor corpse on the side of the road.

Here if you see something that you perceive from a distance to be roadkill it will be one of the following, given in order of likelihood: litter (still a lot, but becoming less), a bit of foliage, squashed fruit (yesterday’s sighting: a watermelon!), an oily rag or discarded halter top. Very rarely you will see a dead animal. I’ve seen several hedgehogs on our mountain road, as well as snakes, and several cats and one dog on the autostradas. Once we saw someone’s white specialty pigeon with a fanned out turkey type tail flouncing stupidly along the side of the road. Sadly it was hit by the time we got back, and we spent weeks kicking ourselves for not rescuing it on our way into town instead of assuming it would be smart enough to fly home.

But as you can see, if we can remember specific incidents there are not many of them. I’ve asked myself why this is and here’s my theory, completely unsupported by any external evidence or corroboration: I think all the   small animals from the woods around here were eaten during the War, and they’ve never re-established themselves. (Having said that, there are plenty of wild boar – and you wouldn’t want to hit one of them – they’re HUGE – but they were introduced to the area 10 or 15 years ago).

I won’t belabor this WWII theme, or I’ll try not to – but it is something I think about frequently. It’s impossible for those of us born safely after that war, or Korea or Vietnam, to imagine the deprivation suffered by the people who are now Italy’s oldest citizens.

Here’s a pictorial example. The Captain and I had business in the town hall of Zoagli, our neighboring village, last week. They have an exhibition of photos from the December 27, 1943, Allied bombing of the railway bridge there (Happy New Year, everyone!). I can’t give attribution because I couldn’t figure out who took the photos, but I took pictures of them anyway – sorry, they are pics of pics and of poor quality, but interesting anyway. Compare the 1943 photos above of the town center and the railroad bridge to those of the same places taken last Friday, 65 years latter, below.  Perhaps if our town looked like the one above we would take to the hills in search of food…

Zoagli town center today

Zoagli bridge today

The passeggiata

25 Friday Jul 2008

Posted by in Customs, People, Rapallo

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The passagiata on Via Mazzini

The passeggiata on Via Mazzini

The passeggiata is a central feature of afternoon life in Italy. Literally the passeggiata (pass-ah-jah’-tah) is the stroll that many Italians take between the hours of 4 and 6 p.m.

There is more to it than exercise. Italians gather together to talk, frequently, endlessly. If you could put a sound meter on the country, you would hear a constant undercurrent of conversation, a sea of noise that reaches high tide about 5 p.m. I once asked the Captain, “What do they talk about all the time?” He replied, “Food, family,” to which I would add also weather, politics and some good general gossip.

In Rapallo the passeggiata proper occurs on two streets: Via Mazzini (a pedestrian shopping street) for the young people, and along the Lungomare for the older people who, it must be said, frequently take their passeggiata sitting down on a bench. In passeggiata people amble along, looking and being looked at, stopping to speak to acquaintances or to admire a new baby in a stroller.

Passeggiata on the Lungomare

Passeggiata on the Lungomare

The passeggiata gives you an opportunity to strut your stuff, and to check out what everyone else is wearing. It gives you an opportunity to see your neighbors, see if they look well or poorly, see who has a new frock, a new dog (a popular accessory in Rapallo), or new tattoos.

So much of life in Italy is lived outside. The weather co-operates, of course, especially in a seaside town like Rapallo. But the passeggiata takes place in every town, every day (unless it’s raining of course; you wouldn’t want to melt, would you??). Living quarters tend to be small, so it’s very pleasant to take oneself out to the larger world, and all the more pleasant if you find a friend with whom to walk arm-in-arm down the Lungomare, admiring or dissing all the others, and catching up on the local news of the day.

Public Gardens and Parks in Paradise

20 Sunday Jul 2008

Posted by in gardening, Italy, Photographs, Rapallo, Uncategorized

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Being a tourist town, Rapallo has a vested interest in looking pretty, and pretty it is, especially the parts of town most frequented by visitors.  I took some photos of the gardens to show you (earlier in the summer, as a matter of fact).  You’ll find them here or over on the right under photographs (Rapallo Gardens).  When you click on the link you’ll find yourself on a Picasa page; I suggest choosing the slide show.

Each season the various beds are replanted with appropriate flowers.  In  Winter it’s cyclamen, in the Spring pansies, and so forth.  Even the smallest traffic circle has a little bed of flowers around the familiar blue sign with white arrows.

Rapallo has a large park which includes a play area for children, a mini-golf (!) and the public library (Biblioteca Internationale: books in Italian, French, German and English).  There are lovely gardens all through this park.  There are at least two other parks for children, one with a pint-sized train that toot-toots around the perimeter.  There is another park near an elementary school which is largely cement, but has the advantage of having a basketball court.

Upon entering Rapallo from the Autostrada the first thing you see is an island garden, lately with a desert theme.  It has sprouted almost as many signs as cacti, but is attractive none the less.  As an aside, in the photo of this garden take a look at the traffic coming into town – a Friday afternoon in July is not the optimum time to arrive in Rapallo by car.

The area between the Lungomare and the street that borders it is planted with cactus, palm trees (festooned with lights at Christmas) and low flowers.  The benches along the edge of the gardens are always filled to capacity with ancient Rapallesi.

The Whimsicality Prize has to go to a small garden at the end of Via Marsalla.  It boasts two kayaks that have been painted yellow and white and filled with flowers.  It is about the silliest thing I’ve ever seen.

If the Polipo Fountain is the sculptural mascot of Rapallo (it is), the living mascots have certainly got to be the ducks.  There are zillions of them, some right at the shore, many more in the various rivers that empty into the Gulf.  The greatest number of them are mallards, but there are some large white ducks as well. And as if the city were running a genetics experiment, there are several pockets of very confusing looking ducks which are neither one species nor another, but are greatly speckled and strange.  The Rapallesi love their ducks; it’s not unusual to see someone with a huge sack hanging over the San Francesco Torrente tossing bread bits to the ducks below.  And oh my, in spring when the babies are born everyone keeps track of the number of chicks in each clutch and tallies the survivors weekly.

The ducks are amusing, especially when they turn up where you don’t expect them – walking along the top of a wall, for instance, or trying to enter a shop (this is where I won’t tell you the duck-in-store groaner with the punch line, “Oh I’ll just put it on my bill”) (oh all right, I’ll tell you: the duck walks into the Norfolk Pharmacy and asks for ChapStick.  Ever helpful Kevin supplies same and asks, “will that be cash or charge?” and the duck replies… but you know what the duck replies.)  Their quacking is one of Rapallo’s background noises; why is it that ducks quacking sound so officious?

What the ducks have to do with the gardens, I can’t say, certainly they are not frequent garden visitors.  They are both prominent features of the shore area, though, so they’ve ended up together here.

There are other gardens in Rapallo which I haven’t photographed or mentioned, for example the Verdi garden, where the famous Wall of the Partigiani is, and where a very interesting dog show was held last year for both pure-breeds and what the Italians gallantly call Fantasie (or less gallantly, Bastardi), which is what you and I call mutts.  The gardens and parks of Rapallo are lovely to look at, but above all they are put to great use, both casually by individuals and in an organized way for events.  Whether it is the above mentioned dog show, or movies and shows behind the Library, there is frequently something going on in one of the park areas of the town.  It’s very satisfying in a Yankee kind of way to see space not only made beautiful, but also put to good use.  Take a look at the pictures…

PS  There are two new recipes today, too – Clafoutis (no kidding, that’s what it’s called!): if you like custard and fruit you will love Clafoutis; it’s easy and yummy.  The Sicilian salad is made from oranges and onions; again, really easy, and quite beautiful as well.

Peacocks

15 Tuesday Jul 2008

Posted by in Italian men, Italy, People, Uncategorized

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Italian men are peacocks (in the best sense of the word)!  Well, not all of them, of course, but most of the men I’ve met here take a serious interest in their appearance, and they like to show their plumage and be admired.  Sometimes it makes them behave in ways which, to the New England eye, seem rather strange.

Take for example this fellow.  He has chosen for his morning exercise routine the rooftop over the Rapallo Port parking garage. This is located on the busiest road on the peninsula, the road that leads from Rapallo through Santa Margherita and on to Portofino.  From morning to late at night there is a steady stream of cars, public transit buses, tourist buses, campers, vans, SUVs – all full of faces peering out at the passing scene.  This hale gentleman was engaged in deep knee squats when I first saw him as I walked from Rapallo to nearby San Michele, his arms held horizontally in front of himself like a sleepwalker. And he was good!  He did a ton of them while I watched. As I ambled along fishing in my bag for the Trusty Canon he segued to the odd sort of body lift here pictured – legs splayed out in front, arms on the bench behind him, then flex arms, release, flex, release – I’m sure it’s very difficult.

My business at the Post Office in San Michele didn’t take long, but it must have been 25 minutes before I got back to the Rapallo port, and Charles Atlas was still at it, jumping rope now, his back glistening with sweat. He seemed rather pleased when he caught me with the camera out just after taking this photo.

Try as I might I can’t imagine, say, a New York stock-broker engaging in such exhibitionist behavior on Wall Street, or a Mid-West farmer requisitioning the yard in front of the county court-house for his calisthenics, or a tweedy college professor stripping down to his swim trunks in the Quad.

But isn’t it wonderful?  What’s the use of having gorgeous feathers, real or imagined, if you don’t show them off to the rest of the world?

Rainiero

12 Saturday Jul 2008

Posted by in Italy, People, Uncategorized

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This week we said goodbye to a dear old friend, Rainiero Cesarini.  He was 87 and had been sick in the hospital for two months, so his death was a great sadness, if not a surprise.  But what a life he’d had!

He was born before the invention of Life Savers, zippers, crossword puzzles, toasters, Band Aids and bras.  The Italy of his youth was a much poorer country than today and was soon to be ensnared with the other Allies against Germany and Austria in World War One.

Rainiero was a boy as Mussolini and the fascists rose to power in Italy*; he served in World War II as a member of the Alpini, the highly trained and regarded Alpine mountain fighting units of the Italian Army.  They are famous for their bravery and stubborn refusal to give up.  They are also admired for their jaunty hats festooned with a long feather.

Rainiero enjoyed a much happier fate than that of his fellow Alpini who went to Russia, most of whom died there: he was captured by the British in Libya.   Not long before his death he told the Captain about his experiences: there were more than 100,000 Italian prisoners, and the British certainly didn’t have the manpower or resources to organize them all immediately.  Basically they were told by the British to organize themselves, which they did, building their own prisoner-of war camps and settling in.  After some amount of time they were taken to Alexandria and thence by boat across the perilous Mediterranean to Great Britain.

Rainiero went to a farm to work, where he was treated with kindness and respect; he remained friends with his farm family for the rest of his life.  A chef by profession he lived and worked in England after the war, no doubt partly due to the good treatment he received at the hands of the British; he and his wife raised their daughter Amanda there.**  When his working days were over he and his family moved back to Italy.

His death and his experiences make one think about what Rapallo and Santa must have been like during those war years.  It was only 65 or so years ago, but it’s impossible to imagine.  The people were impoverished; the Partigiani were hiding in the hills and, when caught, being lined up against a wall and shot – you can still see the wall in Rapallo, pocked with bullet holes.  The German army retreated up the boot, the Allies following, and destruction was left in the wake. Song birds were prized not for their music but for the protein they provided.

What a change from those days to today, when Rapallo and Santa are havens for old folks and tourists, where everything is beautiful, there’s plenty to eat, health care is universal (sort of – that’s for another day), everyone chatters on cell phones, and people drive like maniacs.

I may not be accurate with this history – if not, please tell me!  And do try for a moment to picture yourself living when Rainiero did, and imagine all the changes that took place in his long lifetime, beginning with zippers and bras, and ending with iPods.  What a journey.

* Italy was not well-pleased by her treatment as a second-rate ally during the peace forged at Versailles.  Though she had fought next to the other allies, she did not reap any of the rewards. Mussolini was able to take advantage of this dissatisfaction during his rise to power.

** The Captain was especially struck by the fact that Rainiero chose not to repatriate.  The invitation to stay in England was made to many Italian prisoners-of-war, but the majority of them chose to return home.

How to bust a diet – Italian style

07 Monday Jul 2008

Posted by in Italian recipes, Italy, Piemonte, Uncategorized

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A friend who is dieting recently wrote an e-mail lamenting the fact that she had fallen off the wagon by eating – gasp – a piece of toast with marmalade, and drinking – double gasp – a G & T.  I had to tell her that hers were but minor peccadillos…

THIS is how you really shoot a diet all to pieces ~  Get up too early, eat a sensible breakfast, drive 2+ hours to Sostegno in Piemonte, to the country house of Leo and Isa. Hang around waiting for Carlo and Reka to show up for lunch, eat bread while waiting. Then eat some more bread and drink some wine with it. That wine was good; have some more.

Carlo and Reka & Anna and Jacobo appear, go to the table. Eat polenta cuncia – usually eaten in winter but it’s cold and rainy today, so… it is made with lots and lots of cheese and butter and it is so good you must have just a little bit more. Then have some other anti-pasti, perhaps a brace of stuffed eggs, some more bread with egg yolk something on it, then some bagna cauda on half a broiled red pepper (bagna cauda is a sauce made of anchovies, garlic and oil.  Its name is sometimes written “bagna calda”, but it is a Piemontese dish, and the correct Piemontese word is “cauda”.  Thus sayeth Leo). The salami looks pretty good too, so try several slices of both kinds. But it’s all so salty! Drink more wine.

Then eat the main course, which is just plain old ordinary polenta and a cotechino, which is a sort of fatty, spicy mixed meat something stuffed in a casing and boiled for a while. Red wine. Feel like you’re going to die. But wait. L & I’s daughter Anna’s boyfriend’s mother has sent along a tiramisu, and it would be awful if word got back to her that someone didn’t like it. Eat tiramisu. Oh gosh, look at the time – it’s after 4 p.m. Go for a walk, a long walk, no matter the rain.

Prepare for dinner. Help by setting the table and testing to see if the bread is still good. It is. When asked say that you want the fish instead of the beef (because after all you are on a diet!). Commiserate with Louis that his pesto lasagna has had to sit too long before being served. Eat a big square so he won’t feel badly. Eat your whole fish after removing head and tail – it has been baked in tin foil with olive oil and has been stuffed with thyme. It is heavenly. Feel sorry for all the fatties eating meat. Eat a second portion of salad because it is good diet food. Wine? Yes! Some of each please, and 2 extra glasses of the Triminer because it is particularly good with the fish. Dessert? No thank you. Oh, that’s right, we brought it (purchased, not made: a light cakey thing called Dolce Varese)- the others might think it’s poison if you don’t eat it. Have a second piece to lay their worries completely to rest.

Go to bed hating yourself, but resolving to do better tomorrow.  That’s how we go off-diet in Italy! How do you do it?

Festa!

06 Sunday Jul 2008

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 Every Italian town and village has an annual festa in honor of its saint.  Here in San Maurizio di Monti they celebrate the eponymous saint every autumn, taking his plaster image from the church and giving him an airing in a solemn procession with prayers, dreadful through a loud-speaker, along the main road.  (San Maurizio is one of eight frazione, or administrative appendages, of Rapallo.)

Rapallo proper requires three days for its celebration.  The reason is that the Virgin Mary visited Rapallo once upon a time, and the miracles that have accrued (and continue to accrue?) require more than the usual amount of celebration. (For a brief account of the miraculous origin of the Sanctuary see the link to the right, “The peasant, the virgin, etc.” under Elaborations in Pages.  It is a story that demands a touch of humor; parts of it may tax your credibility.)

For several weeks before the Big Festa, July 1, 2 and 3, pilgrims daily make their way by foot from Rapallo to Montallegro, carrying candles and singing in the early dawn.  It is haunting to hear wisps of hymns drift over the brow of the hill in the barely-there light of 4 a.m.

On the night of July third there is a big parade with all the special ‘parade crosses’ from the region participating.  There are white Christs, black Christs, tinsel galore, and colorful costumes.  The men who carry the crosses wear specially designed belts with a pouch to take the base of the heavy crucifix.  They stagger along balancing the crosses against their chests without using their hands.

It wouldn’t be Italy without the politicians getting into it – all the town fathers march in the parade, easily identifiable because they are the only people in town wearing suits.

Rapallo has six sestiere, or districts, all of which compete in the annual fireworks extravaganza.  Two sestiere set off their displays on each of the three nights of the festa.   The event draws large crowds which line the Lungomare waiting for the climax: the ‘burning’ of the castello.  The castle is outlined in white flares which give it the appearance of being composed entirely of fire. 

At this year’s parade 30,000 viewers were expected, and there were 300 policemen on duty, many borrowed from nearby cities. You don’t want to try to drive through Rapallo on the night of July 3.

Re-entry

03 Thursday Jul 2008

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No, this is not some hokey photographic hyperbole – this is what sunset looks like from the Bali Hai Restaurant in Hanalei, Kauai, Hawaii, where we were not dining.  But the view was recommended, so we had the obligatory drink-with-umbrella and took it all in.  The picture is completely unedited, just as it came from the trusty Canon A 630; in fact, the sunset was more beautiful than this photo suggests.  As an aside, why is it that rum in any form (Mai Tai, anyone?) tastes so much better when you’re looking at a palm tree?

Culture shock on re-entering the US?  Not so bad in Hawaii where the pace of life is not so different from that of Italy, and the need for things-and-stuff seems relatively low (though the price of food was amazingly high, except for the locally produced beef).  The week or two spent in Connecticut and Tennessee were jarring indeed – everything is so big, so fast and so costly.  The biggest surprise was the general level of discontent/fear on the Mainland.  The dire economic conditions have everyone trembling;  the war is a worry; terrorism (condition = orange) a basso continuo of fear.  There is hope aplenty when people speak of the up-coming election, but undercut by a sense that so much damage has been done in the last decade that nothing will really do much good.

It was strange indeed to be back.  But, as always, there is no place like homeland, and to hear one’s native language spoken and to understand all the cultural references and subtle nuances is a joy indeed.

There is also no place like home, and it’s great to be back in Italy, trying to shrug off travel fatigue and looking at the mountain of laundry.  The Captain took care of everything brilliantly while I kicked up my heels.  All is right with the world… for the moment.