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The Lavender Mob

20 Monday Jul 2009

Posted by in Animals in Italy, Flowers, gardening, Uncategorized

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It’s got all the ingredients of a summer blockbuster: violence, pathos, beauty, love, and finally the triumph of good hard work.  And where can you see this great show?  At our house, in the lavender plant on the entry terrace. There’s more action in an hour there than there is at your Cineplex on any given evening.

First the beauty:  the butterflies.  They come in a series as summer progresses.  Last week the pale greeny yellow ones that look like leaves were everywhere:

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butterfly on lavender

This week it is the swallowtails and the smaller white ones with dark wing smudges which travel in small herds:

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swallowtail butterflya

swallowtail butterfly (5)a

Our friend Tay calls swallowtails the upside-down butterfly, because they really do look like they’re upside down when they’re perched on a flower.  There are a host of other butterflies that come and go, from teeny little brownish ones to the lovely orange ones accented with circles.

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butterflies on lavender-4

Two weeks ago I saw one butterfly of a type I’ve never seen before, or since: small and cobalt blue.  Then there are the not-quite-butterflies not-quite bugs, with their dramatic red, white or yellow spots, as well as the good old bugs.

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Pestle Revised + Insects 015

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Pestle Revised + Insects 012

The pathos and violence go hand in hand.  There are nasty little beetles that hide deep inside some of the lavender flowers.  When a careless bee sticks his head in to drink from that flower, the beetle kills him with a swift swipe of his serrated razor-like arm.  We tried, but couldn’t get a picture of these little bastards. The poor dead bees just hang on the flower, giving every appearance of being drunk.  But no, not drunk. Dead.

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The triumph of good hard work?  The bees, of course.  There are more bees than you can shake a stick at.  My favorites are the small fuzzy yellow bombers that never even bother to retract their proboscis as they move from flower to flower.  They’re quick, and hard to catch with the camera.

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Next in size is the medium-sized fuzzy orange drudge who methodically moves from flower to flower, taking his time but being thorough.

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There are three very large bees, two with bright yellow stripes on their backs, and one who dresses entirely in black and refuses to be photographed.

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Towards the end of the lavender’s bloom a bee that looks like a Mini Cooper with racing stripes arrives in great number.

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Italian honey bees are reputed to have a gentle temperament and be excellent honey producers. I can’t vouch for the honey production because I haven’t found any, but the bees certainly are gentle.  We brush by their lavender bush a dozen times a day, and while they buzz around and complain, neither of us has ever been stung.

There’s a downside to being so hospitable to the bees.  Some of them nest in the ground, and we have a resident badger.  In his efforts to find bee grubs to eat he has dug numerous holes under our trees, especially the olive trees.

badger hold under olive

The odd thing is there is never enough dirt left outside the hole to fill it in completely again.  Where does he take the excess dirt, and what does he do with it?

You’re wondering about the love part of the equation?  It’s just that I love to watch the action around the lavender bush.  If you’ve got one, sit down sometime and watch it for an hour; it’s worth way more than the price of admission.

ETs?

11 Saturday Jul 2009

Posted by in gardening, Rapallo, Uncategorized

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mowing the river
No, extra-terrestrials have not landed in Rapallo.  Instead it is time to mow the river.    The Torrente San Francesco is fed by all the little streams and rivulets that start in the folds of our high mountain and head towards the sea.  By the time they arrive on the plain of Rapallo they have become the Torrente.  For most of the year that is a misnomer, as you can see in the photo below.  Not only is it not a torrent, you can see hardly any water at all in some places.  What you can see is a lot of greenery, including the dreaded bamboo on the right in the picture above.  To give you an idea of how much water there can be after heavy rains, in 2002 I saw the top of the river almost breach the high retaining walls that you see below.  The mowers tackle not only the river bed itself, but also the walls which sprout quantities of viney, clingy weeds in all seasons.

Why the haz-mat suits?  I’m not sure.  Just to be safe, I guess.  I can tell you what they wear under them.  Not much.  Sometimes a wife-beater tee-shirt, sometimes no shirt at all, and, I suppose, trousers, although I didn’t  verify that.   The river is home to many, many ducks and geese as well as the occasional cat.

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I asked mower Luis how often they have to mow the river. They last did it two months ago, he said. How long does it take to finish the river? A week or more, it’s hard work after two months of heavy growth. When I asked him what was the most interesting or amusing thing they found in the river his face clouded for a minute. “We find a lot of dead animals,” he said. But then he smiled sweetly and continued, “but we also find the birds’ nests, and we always mow around them.”

Everybody’s happy when the river has been mowed.  Something minty grows down there, and the perfume fills Via Bette from the Autostrada Bridge all the way down to Giorgio’s bakery, where the mouth-watering smell of freshly baked bread prevails.  Also you can see what’s going on so much better after the mowing.  Something delicious must be hiding in that hole; this cat was so intent that even loud shouts of ‘hey, kitty!’ didn’t get his attention.

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mowing the river resting

Uh oh!  Looks like Luis found some hazardous material after all… but no.  He’s just having a little ‘pisolino’ (nap) after his picnic lunch.

Q8 Rip-Off

07 Tuesday Jul 2009

Posted by in Crime, Driving in Italy, Italian bureaucracy, Italian habits and customs, Italian men, Rapallo, Uncategorized

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Q-8 receipt

You get what you pay for, right?  Well, sometimes when you buy your gas at Q8 you don’t get anything at all!

Here’s the story.  Way back in May I filled my scooter, which has a small tank, and paid with a E 10 note.  There was a credit remaining of E 4.11.   I wasn’t sure how to use the credit slip, though, even though a thorough explanation is given at the bottom.  My Italian just doesn’t always measure up to the fine print.  I know!  It’s my fault, I should be better at my second language.  But I’m not.  Yet.

Wanting help with this credit receipt, I kept waiting for there to be an attendant at the Q8 station, which is, it seems, a rare event.  Finally about a month ago there was a man there who explained to me that because my credit was less than E 5 I wouldn’t be able to use it without putting in more money.  Huh??  When is a credit not a credit??  When it’s for less than E 5 at Q8, that’s when.

It seemed mighty peculiar to me, but I said ok – and as it happened I already had plenty of gas that day, so I didn’t take advantage of the attendant’s presence and actual willingness to help.  I figured I’d catch him another day.

Fast forward to last week (can you believe how much effort is going into a credit for E 4.11??!).  The door to the attendant’s box was open, so I whizzed in to buy some gas.  There was a young woman there, and I asked her, is it true that I can’t use this credit without adding more money?  “I don’t know,” she said, “Can you come back on Monday when the regular guy will be here?”

“Well, okay,” I replied, but can you give me change for this E 50 so I can pump some gas?  I don’t want to put E 50 in the machine.”

“No,” she answered.  Sooo, I went to the grocery store just behind the Q8, bought a few necessities and returned to the gas station with a crisp E 5 note.  The attendant had fled.

I began the automated process to get gas, and one of the choices indeed was for a receipt number, so I punched in the number on my credit.  Immediately what came up was the original screen suggesting, ‘Go ahead, put some money in here and see if you get lucky.’  At least that’s what I think it said. I really just wanted the credit’s worth, so I tried again.  No luck.  Then I stared around in agony and asked the Gas Goddess to come to my assistance.  Then I punched in the credit code again and got a message that it was invalid.  So I just put in E 5 and got my gas, puzzled as could be.

Today my tank was low again and guess what!  There’s a GAS STRIKE in Italy over the next two days so it will be difficult to buy gas (amusingly, one of the strike issues is ‘long working hours’).  It seemed prudent to fill up, and, to my amazement, the door to the attendant’s box at the Q8 was open again, and sure enough there was a man seated at a desk within.  I went right to him and said I wanted to use my credit to buy gas.  He looked at it and said, “There’s not enough credit on here, you need at least E 5, so you will have to put more money in.” (Can you tell me what difference it makes to an automated system if your credit is for E 4.99 or E 5.01?  It shouldn’t matter one whit.)

I explained that I had tried to do that but that it hadn’t worked.  “Can you help me with this?” I asked – and I was still being extremely polite.  Can you guess what he said?  He said, “No.”  Then he said, “The instructions are written down here.”

“I know,” I said, “but when I put my credit number in it doesn’t work.  Can’t you help?”  Rolling his eyes to the heavens and heaving a mighty sigh he… you think I’m going to say he got up, aren’t you?  No, he didn’t budge his skinny ass.  He punched a few buttons on the computer in front of him and said, “This number is invalid.  Didn’t you take a new receipt when you tried before?”

“No,” I explained (and I was getting a little irritated by now), “I didn’t because there wasn’t one to take.”

“There was,” he assured me, “and you should have taken it.”

“So what you’re telling me is that Q8 has my E 4.11 and I’m not going to get any gas for it?”

“This receipt is invalid.”

“But I didn’t get anything for it.  I’m just giving Q8 my money and not getting any gas in return.”

He gave the final, infuriating, ‘tough shit’ shrug and turned away.  That’s when I crumpled up the receipt (but didn’t throw it at him – I’m so glad because now I can show it to you!) and informed him tartly that I wouldn’t be buying any gas from Q8 ever, ever again.  You know, I don’t think he cared.

As a side note, during the long wait for this story to unwind I received another credit slip from the Shell station in the middle of town, this one for E .94.  The attendant (who is there morning and afternoon, daily) took my slip and applied it to my next gas purchase.  So easy!

May I tell you what would have happened if this had occurred in the U.S.?  1) the attendant would have been there more than ten minutes a week.  2) he would have made at least a cursory effort to help  and 3) he would have believed me and would have made good on the credit.

Now you might say I’m the victim of my own ignorance, and I guess that’s true, but  I think people who are selling things should try to be helpful to customers.  You might call my wish to have the gas credit honored the typical unreasonable American sense of entitlement.  I call it honesty.

Rapallo’s Feste Patronali

05 Sunday Jul 2009

Posted by in Italian holidays, Italy, Photographs, Rapallo, Uncategorized

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fireworks battle-1We might have celebrations and fireworks in the U.S.on the 4th of July, but good old Rapallo celebrates for three full days, and at almost the same time.  July 1, 2 and 3 are the days of the Feste in Rapallo which commemorate the appearance of the Virgin Mary at Montallegro, 452 years ago. (You can read about that event here).  Because the holidays are mid-week this year, they have run over a bit into the following weekend as well.  The schedule of events is daunting – it would be impossible to do everything that is taking place.

It all starts the Sunday before the 1st of July, which is the first night the Pilgrims walk (yes, walk) from Rapallo up the mountain to Montallegro.  Singing.  At about 2 a.m.  In torchlight.  It’s a spooky thing to hear because the sound is not singing exactly, nor is it exactly chanting.  It’s something in between, which has monotonal parts accented by occasional semi-octave exclamations.  The sound carries, and the nearby hills send it back in echo, and the whole effect is mystical and a little scary, an effect that is, I imagine, accentuated by the flickering lights of the torches.

Throughout the feste days there are many masses celebrated, both at Montallegro and at the main cathedral of Rapallo, the Basilica of the Saints Gervasio and Protasio (an entertainingly translated link).

Things really get underway on the 1st, with the “Saluto alle Madonna” and the “Spettacoli pirotecnici ‘a giorno’ ”   The Saluto, which is repeated daily, is simply big cannon Booms which shake the ground under your feet.  The fireworks instead is a one and a half hour extravaganza that starts at 8 a.m. (8 a.m.??) and is sponsored by the Sestieri Borzoli and Costaguta.  It seems like an odd hour for fireworks to me, but that’s how it’s done.  There’s no worry if you don’t make it to this early show, though, there are plenty more fireworks to come, each one sponsored by pairs of the Sestieri of Rapallo.

Wikipedia tells us:  “a sestiere is a subdivision of certain Italian towns and cities. The word is from sesto, or sixth; and is thus used only for towns divided into six districts. The best-known example are the sestieri of Venice, but Ascoli Piceno, Genoa and Rapallo, for example, are also divided into sestieri. Sestierei are no longer administrative divisions of these towns, but historical and traditional communities, most often seen in their sharpest relief in the town’s annual palio.”  ( A ‘palio’ is usually an atheletic competition of some sort; Siena’s famous Palio is a horse race; Rapallo’s competition is in fireworks displays.)  Borzoli and Costaguta also sponsor fireworks on the night of July 1st.  On the night of the 2nd the Sestieri San Michele and Cappelletta take over, and on the night of the 3rd it is the turn of Seglio and Crisola, this one with music.  The highlight of  this display, which features a battle between sea and Fort, is the famous Lighting of the Castello, in which the whole edifice seems to be ablaze.

castello engulfed

On the night of the 3rd, before the fireworks, there is a Solemn Procession of the Silver Arc of the Madonna, a parade through the center of the town in which all the parade crucifixes from the Rapallo churches are brought out and displayed.  The Silver Arc usually resides at Montallegro, but is brought down annually to much fanfare.  Bishops put on their best lace and the politicians are all in Armani.

procession silver

The crucifixes are large and look quite heavy, though all the tinsely decorations at the top give to each an airy, celestial feel.  Some of the Crucifieds are black and some are white.  Each is carried by one man who has a leather pouch at his waist that cradles the base of the cross.  The tricky part is that he must carry his burden without using his hands, which are firmly clasped behind his back.

procession crucifix

There is a support team for each cross, and when one bearer gets tired there is frenzied activity while the cross is passed to the next.  The whole effect is heightened by the costumes they wear, something between Middle Ages and Bakery.

procession changing carrier-1

It’s a terrific event.  I can’t begin to imagine the planning and all the hours and hours of work it takes to carry it all off.  If you ever have a chance to be in Rapallo on the 1, 2 or 3 of July, jump on it – it’s an experience you’ll never forget.  There are some more photos here.  They’re not as good as I’d like, but they’ll give you the flavor of the event. If nothing else, you’ll enjoy the portrait of the Very Strong Man.

Pickle Relish

01 Wednesday Jul 2009

Posted by in American recipes, Customs, Food, Uncategorized

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relishOh! The things we take for granted in the United States, things like peanut butter and pickle relish.  Neither of these items is readily available in Rapallo, and usually we don’t miss them very much.  But watch out – the 4th of July is just around the corner.  You can’t get through the 4th of July without a hot dog or a brat, and according to me, you can’t eat either without pickle relish on top.

The solution to the scarcity problem is obvious: we must make our own.  We made this recipe a couple of years ago and served it at a 4th party, which included many Italian friends.  To our surprise they loved it, to the point of requesting the recipe.  “It will be good with chicken and pork,” one of them said.  I suppose so, though we generally opt for the Captain’s chutney with that kind of meat.  But for a good old ‘Merican hot dog or German brat, nothing beats relish on top, and this recipe makes a relish unlike the vivid green items you can buy in American supermarkets.  We adapted it from a recipe we found on cooks.com.

Dancing hot dog C

(Picture found on web - thank you anonymous artist!)

Happy Independence Day, everyone!  Eat a hot dog!!

Under attack?

27 Saturday Jun 2009

Posted by in Crime, Law and order, Uncategorized

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Lately we’ve felt a bit like we’re under attack.

First it was the Attack of the Teen-Age Firebombers.  Well, ok, that’s overstating it: it was just little fire-crackers.  But it was almost midnight, I Firecrackerswas up alone, and they made a big flash of light and then a loud bang when they landed on the front terrace.  And there were 17 of them, which seems excessive, and that doesn’t count the dozen that were set off in our mailbox.  I finally woke up the Captain who went outside and shook his fist and shouted at the departing figures, lads from a nearby settlement we surmise.  That was harmless, all in all, but it was unsettling because they were not throwing the flash booms anywhere except at our house.

A week or so later we went to our parcheggio to find that our sweet little Mini had been ‘keyed’ from stem to stern.  It wasn’t casual, because it’s very clear that whoever did it started on the front fender and decided he wasn’t going deep enough, so he started over, deeper, and did the full length of the car, ending at the back of the rear fender.  We have insurance, but that’s hardly the point – it’s the wanton defacement that is upsetting.  Were we singled out?  Who knows.  The trattoria across the street had over 150 guests that evening, and some of them were pretty drunk by the time they left.  But we have no way of knowing who did the deed or when.

The most recent insult is a large stone that was thrown on our roof from the road above.  That sounds harmless enough, and in fact it was harmless.  But our roof, like most of them here, is made of clay tiles, and it is reasonable to assume that if you throw a large rock from above it will break some of the tiles, leading to the inconvenience, expense and risk (it’s a high roof) of repairs.  We were lucky that either the rock was too small or the tiles too strong for any damage to occur.

RinoNonetheless, I’m feeling paranoid.  It’s always such a shock to see or suffer from an act that is just purely mean.  It happens the world over, I guess.  The firecrackers were probably just kids goofing around.  But the car and the rock are on a different order – those were done with intent to damage. And I’m thinking about surveillance cameras…  what a way to live.  Or maybe… maybe we’ll call Cugino Rino in Genova.  He has a menacing laugh that would scare the devil – we’ll just get him to come over here and laugh around the neighborhood a little, and then no one will dare harm us or our property again!

GPL

22 Monday Jun 2009

Posted by in American habits and customs, Driving in Italy, Driving in the U.S., Italy, Liguria, Travel, Uncategorized

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GPL in Italy is what we call LPG in the U.S.: liquid propane gas, and cars fit to take it are widely available here (Chevrolet, Fiat, Mazda, Opel,  Peugeot, Renault).

Quick disclaimer:  I’m not a gear-head or an engineer.  My understanding of internal combustion engines is on a par with that of my sister, who once described the reason her car was in the shop as “a loose screw in an oil place.”

Unfortunately, a visit to fueleconomy.gov, a U.S. site, informs us that one of the disadvantages of LPG as an auto fuel in the U.S. is that no new passenger cars fitted for its use are commercially available (though kits to retrofit are).  It is more commonly used there for fleets, taxis, and forklifts (there are about 600,000 LPG vehicles in operation in the U.S. today out of 240,000,000 total vehicles (+/- 2.5%).  As a corollary to this, the fuel itself is not widely available at ordinary filling stations.  And I have to ask, why??

The U.S. is one of the largest producers of LPG, which is a petroleum product (learn all about it here).  It was first developed by Dr. Walter Snelling in 1910 (the first automobiles that ran on propane appeared in 1913).  Though it is a petroleum product, it burns up to 40% cleaner than gasoline, emitting far fewer hydrocarbons, and it is less costly than gas.

Look at this happy woman:

GPL

She is my friend Anita, and she is happy because she has just filled her bi-fuel Chevy Matis with GPL.  Bi-fuel?  It means her new car runs on either conventional gas or, with the flip of a switch, GPL.  She is happy because there is still money in her wallet after filling her car.  One reason is because her GPL costs about E .57 per liter instead of the E 1.39 for gasoline. (The man who pumped the GPL is smiling because he likes having his picture taken.)

Here are two more reasons she’s smiling.  When she took her old Volvo wagon off the road the Italian government said Thank You For Taking That Big Polluting Monster Off Our Roads by giving her E 1,500.  Then she was rewarded with about another E 3,500 when she chose to buy her bi-fuel Chevrolet Matis. (Other car manufacturers in Italy also offer ‘ecocentives’ to those who purchase bi-fuel cars.)

GPL-1

The only trick is to find a station that sells GPL – it’s easier to do here, where there are at least 19 dealers in Liguria, than in the U.S., where you seldom see it sold.  But if you can’t find a station, no worries – you can still drive on conventional fuel.

There’s a special adaptor that couples with the GPL fuel receiver of the car – brass!  Very pretty.  And after the car has been fueled, very cold.  The smiling man simply took the adapter, screwed it in, and then attached the pump nozzle to the adapter.  It didn’t take any longer to fuel with GPL than with regular fuel.

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I’m surprised more is not done with this fuel in the U.S., where efforts seem to be going instead to ethanol blends and bio-diesel.  I learned here that if you purchase a hybrid, diesel or dedicated alternative fuel vehicle (what a mouthful), you may be eligible for a tax credit of up to $4,000, which is nothing to sneeze at.  There is no reward in the U.S. for purchasing a bi-fuel car.  Nor is there a reward that I could find for removing a heavily polluting, inefficient vehicle from American roads.  An alternative in the U.S. to LPG is compressed natural gas, or CNG, which burns even cleaner than LPG, but takes up much more room.  (Again, new cars are not available with CNG, but retro-fit kits are.)  Isn’t it odd that American auto manufacturers haven’t paid more attention to a  cleaner technology that’s been around since the beginning of car time?  Oh, wait a minute.  Thinking about those yo-yo’s, maybe it isn’t so surprising after all.

Not Your Same Old Zucchini

18 Thursday Jun 2009

Posted by in Food, Indian recipes, Uncategorized

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indian dinner zucch 001

This week we had a confluence of two happy conditions.  The first is that the Captain loves to cook, and we both love to eat, Indian food. The second is that it is the start of Zucchini Season here in Liguria.  Our plants are just beginning to flower, but our friends are already picking their first zukes and cukes.

There was a joke in the town in Connecticut where we lived for many years.  It said that the only time you had to lock your car was when you went downtown in August because if you didn’t someone would throw in a bushel of bat-sized zucchini.  It certainly is a prolific plant (though we’ve suffered off-and-on mildew problems here in Rapallo), and the puzzle is always to find new ways to serve this summer staple.  It’s always great on the grill, but you don’t want to fire that up only for zucchini.  Zucchini cake is good, but doesn’t use up enough of the vegetable.

What to do?  The Captain googled ‘zucchini Indian’ and found a terrific Madhur Jaffrey recipe at recipezaar.com.  Like every good cook I know, though, he tweaked it to produce the gorgeous zucchini raita seen at the front of the plate above.  (The other two items are Murgh Khoobani, game hens braised in fragrant apricot sauce from Julie Sahni‘s book Classic Indian Cooking; and basmati rice with raisins, saffron and mint).

Although this recipe calls for cayenne pepper, you can leave it out altogether if you hate hot pepper, or you can add it in any amount you like to suit your appetite for heat.  You can find the recipe by clicking here, or over on the right under Recipes.

Whence thy egg?

14 Sunday Jun 2009

Posted by in Animals in Italy, Birds in Italy, Food, Italian habits and customs, Italy, Uncategorized

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rhodeislandredWhen we lived in Connecticut we had a ‘flock’ of hens.  I use the term loosely; we had three hens.  Ever since my grandmother told stories about making little rubbers for her chickens so their feet feet wouldn’t get wet, I wanted to raise chickens.  It seemed more interactive than dolls, and less responsibility than actual children.

Our flock began with a gift of two small banty hens from a friend, which we augmented with the purchase of a Rhode Island Red and a Barred Plymouth Rock.  Oh, they were lovely.  One of the banties became despondent and went under the hen-house to die, but the other three lived with us until we gave them away upon leaving Connecticut, and they gave us just the right number of delicious small blue (the banty) and large brown (the other two) eggs.  BARROCK1

In the U.S. the provenance of the eggs one buys is something of a mystery, as is their age.  In a commercial operation, the eggs are washed and sanitized immediately, and then are sprayed with a thin coat of mineral oil ‘to preserve freshness,’ according to the USA Poultry & Egg Export Council.  The quotation marks are mine, because I suspect it is done more to give the eggs a longer shelf life than for any other reason.  When you buy a carton of eggs in the U.S., you have no idea where they’ve come from, unless the name of the farm is on the carton itself.  And even then you have no way of knowing if the hens were caged or free-range, or what they were fed.  (This is true: leftover bits of chicken at a processing plant are ground up and used as chicken feed.  Blcch.)  Fancier/organic egg producers are likely to advertise their practices on their cartons, but otherwise you’re left in the dark.

Here in Italy every commercially sold egg comes with a code stamped on it.

Egg ID

The first number identifies the life style of the producing hens: 0=biologic (what we might call ‘organic’ in the U.S.)  1 = living in the open (‘free range’)  2 = raised on the ground (something between free range and a cage) and 3 = caged.  The next two letters give the country of origin of the eggs; the next three numbers correspond to the town where the egg was laid; the next two letters are the provincial code of the town; the last three numbers identify the name of the producer (not the hen, the farmer).   So, no mystery about your egg here.  Of course, not all eggs are equally legible.

egg in cup

This one is pretty clear (oh, busted! Now you know we buy eggs from unhappy cage-raised hens in the province of Bolzano.  Shame on us.)  Sometimes the printing is quite smudged so you have no idea what it says.  Note also that there is a use-by date stamped under all the other info.

I haven’t been able to find out what Italian hens eat, but the yolks of their eggs are a rich red-yellow, almost orange.  When we go back to the egg in bowlStates the relatively pale yellow yolks seem anemic to us.  But I must say, even our own flock of Connecticut hens produced the pale American yolk.  It must be something in the Italian diet … even for the chickens.

We always feel good about buying eggs here.  The laying date is stamped on the egg box (they’re sold in quantities of 4, 6 or 10, an odd mix of metric and imperial measurement).  The egg itself will tell us exactly where it comes from.  Italian eggs are not sold from refrigerated cases.  They sit out on the shelf, proud to be fresh enough to do so.

Good as the eggs in the market are, though, the best egg is the one with no identifying marks, save perhaps a little bit of hay or something worse stuck to it, the egg your neighbor gives you.

Every Inch

10 Wednesday Jun 2009

Posted by in gardening, Italian habits and customs, Italian men, Liguria, People, Rapallo, Uncategorized

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It has always amazed me how every square inch of space in Italy seems to be put to some kind of good use.  There are 60 million people living in Italy, a population density of 515 people per square mile.  In the US the population density per square mile is 80.  No wonder roads, houses, cars and people there are large – there’s enough space for everything and everyone.  But here in Italy every square inch must give the most it can.  You realize this particularly if you’re out walking on a woodsy mountainside and suddenly notice overgrown stone walls: the land on those mountains was important enough that people put in hundreds of hours of labor to terrace and farm them.

Now agri-business has arrived in Italy, too, and some of the farming land on the really steep and inaccessible mountains has gone wild.  But individuals will squeeze an enormous amount of production from whatever land is available to them.  And they have devised some very clever inventions to make the job easier.  It’s not uncommon to see a small cable and carrier system stretching across a wooded valley from one hillside to another – a way to transport cut wood.  Or to see the same thing coming down the olive-studded hill to a road below – a way to get the harvested olives to a waiting Ape (the little three-wheeled workhorse truck named for bees, because that’s what the two-stroke engine sounds like).

cable system (2)

People practice intensive gardening here – a lot of the garden maintenance is done by hand, so rows to do not have to be widely spaced to accommodate a tiller.  Down the hill in Rapallo I have watched an elderly gentleman prepare and plant his garden this spring – he did it all by hand.  First he turned the dirt with a spade, then he put in mounds of fertilizer (probably cow manure from the farm up the road), then he forked it all in by hand, and finally he was ready to plant.

garden squares-1aIsn’t it tidy and pretty?  If you get out your magnifying lens you might just be able to spot the man himself in the midst of his tomato stakes behind the tree in the center.  Or you can just take my word for it that he’s there.

The prize for getting the most out of every inch, though, goes to this man’s neighbor a bit farther down the road, another American transplant by the name of Rick Gush.  Rick is the guy that if you give him a sow’s ear he’s going to give you a purse the next time you meet.  He’s the guy who’s never even heard of the box everyone else is trying to think outside of.  Every time we meet Rick we learn of some new  job he once had.  An incomplete list of his accomplishments includes adventure game designer (Kyrandia, Lands of Lore), psychic soil analyst (easier than it sounds, he says, if you live in Las Vegas, as he did at the time), intimacy counselor (“those that can’t do, teach,” he says), artist, uranium miner, gardener and garden writer.  He took all the disparate skills suggested by these activities and put them to work in building his hillside garden.

The steep, stony land, a cliff really, behind his and his wife Marisa’s apartment building had gone completely to seed.  Over the last few years Rick has terraced it and built walls of cement and old wine bottles laid on their sides with the bottoms facing out.  Sounds weird, but it’s really pretty and a very clever way to recycle hundreds of wine bottles.  And being a fanciful fellow he has put turrets on the walls.

Rick's garden

This is a view of the right side of the garden.  There are grapes on the right and a big fig tree on the left, with a smaller lemon between them.  There’s a set of steps, invisible in the photo, above the blue car roof.  Above you can see flowers, bean poles, tomato poles and satellite dishes. Just below the uppermost wall there is a very pretty curved arbor with a flowering vine  growing over it.

Rick's garden-1

This is the left, and more recently constructed part of the garden.  More turrets, the big fig, and more poles to support cukes, squash and pumpkins.

Rick's garden-3

This pictures shows the amount of wall building Rick has done, but it’s hard to see the details of the plants.  This is a garden in the true spirit of Italy – there’s not one centimeter wasted, and, best of all, it’s beautiful.  There’s been an addition since I took this photo – up on the top fascia now sits a small, gleaming white greenhouse – heated by manure.  (To read more about Rick and his cliff garden, click here.)

Rick strangles thin air-1