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Parking

22 Friday Aug 2008

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Have I mentioned that we live on a narrow road? Here’s a photo of the road above our house. This is not some little back road; it is a main road connecting the Via Aurelia to the entroterra, the interior on the other side of the mountain. This road is important enough to be depicted on a map of all of Italy (scale 1/1,000,000)! It is narrow and very well traveled. And most of the houses built along it were built before car ownership was common; driveways and parking areas were not part of the original designs.

These days the State smiles on those who wish to park their cars off-road. Building permits, which are impossible to get for other reasons, materialize for projects which remove cars from the streets. Constructing these projects is easier said than done in the hills.

A couple of years ago we sold our first-born and our first-round draft picks for the next twelve years in order to build a parking platform. It was a huge project, what with the many linear feet of new walls (which these days are made of poured concrete faced with stone) and all the paperwork. The file we accumulated relating the project is 3 inches thick. We needed permits from the town, from the region, from the highway department, I think we even had to get one from God himself. Because the project was built adjacent to a state road there were a lot of engineering requirements and frequent checks by the Certified Engineer that everything was being built according to plan (Giovanni, the Human Backhoe, did the work with his merry band of Romanians). The paperwork and resultant file for the parking platform is half again larger than all the paperwork for the original restoration of the house.  And according to Giovanni, it seemed to the builders that the actual work would never end. It was a really big project. Here is the captain, dwarfed by two of the new walls we had to build (he’s running water up so he can wash his beloved Mini).  And here is the platform itself, really rather small, especially when you consider the tons of material it took to construct it.

Turns out that in the universe of possible parking patooties, our project was pretty small. Take a look at these other four projects, also on our road (Via San Maurizio di Monti):

This is the simplest project, after ours. It’s a lovely new drive with not too many new stone walls, paving, tons of new dirt, and some new trees. They had to jackhammer out a lot of rock where the drive now is; that all used to be hill. We are puzzled about the stone arch over the drive – it’s very pretty but will prevent a truck from ever approaching the house.

This one, too, is a very simple project as well, though I’ve rated it slightly more complex than the preceding because not only did they jackhammer out part of the hill, they are also building a small addition up above (new baby).

This house, a pre-fab built in the 1960’s, is actually on a rather wide part of the road. Their project has been in process for two years now and is nowhere near completion. There is a small new guest cottage that will eventually be under part of the new driveway that is being constructed. Before they could begin this phase, the actual road-building, they had to strengthen (read re-build) stone walls down below. There is a tiny figure in this photo – well actually, he’s a full-sized man, but he looks tiny because he is standing by the enormous walls.  Click on the photo to see it full size and see if you can find him.

This one is the prize-winner. This project is not only cutting a huge swath through the forested hill for a new driveway, but is also inconveniencing everyone who uses the highway as the road has been made one-lane around the work. You would think that something of this scale would provide access to a small community, but the guys doing the work told me it was leading to one house, a rustico that will be knocked down and rebuilt. This explanation was accompanied by the gesture of thumb rubbing against fingers, and the opinion that money was no object, and that ‘what they want, they have.’ This is the first of at least three switch-backs that go up the hill.  They’re using an amazing amount of concrete simply to reinforce the rocky hillside they are excavating.

So I guess there are any number of ways to get your car off the road, depending on your timetable and your wallet. Our car was scraped twice during the years we were on-street-parkers. No matter how you do it, the best place to park on this narrow, busy highway is definitely off-road.

Foraging, or The Yin and Yang of Via San Maurizio di Monti

19 Tuesday Aug 2008

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Just last week I was carping about the litter along the roads.  But look at what bounty the same stretch of road provided today:

These items are all growing wild in untended patches of hillside, so I guess they are free for the taking.

I’ve been watching the blackberries for the last weeks as they went from flowers to gnarly little green berries – finally they are ripe and as sweet as can be.

The grapes are very small, as you can see, but they explode with flavor in the mouth.  They have climbed up a nespolo (medlar tree).  The nespolos around here are all afflicted with some disease that turns the fruit black and wizzened, so we never get to harvest that.

The fig is also miniature, but the tree it’s from is enormous and uncared for and sprawling.  The fruits are just beginning to ripen.  I don’t happen to care for figs, but the captain does, so this one will not go to waste.

Behind it all is a sprig of bay, the kind that we used to buy in New England to flavor our stews and soups.  We have a bay tree beside our house, but it’s nice to know that anyone along the road can have as much bay as they need from the large stand that grows there.  The road crew hacks it back each year as it encroaches on the highway sight-lines (yes, the same wide highway that you will read about soon in “Parking”… stay tuned); the annual pruning keeps it low, thick and extremely productive.

No matter the season, it seems there’s something to be harvested in the wild.  Now it’s grapes, blackberries and figs; soon it will be mushrooms and chestnuts; in the spring it’s the wild herbs and greens to make preboggion.  Probably a lot of these roadside plants have sprung up from seeds the birds have dropped or from discarded plant material. It’s the kind of litter I like.

The Best Thing We Ate This Week – Spezzatino di Vitello

17 Sunday Aug 2008

Posted by in Italian recipes, Piemonte, Uncategorized

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Do I have a picture of it?  Of course not!  But I do have a lovely shot of the pot in which it was cooked:

The pot belongs to our friends Leo and Isa who spend some of their time in the little Piemontese village of Sostegno.  Evidently the pot is picking up some good vibrations, as Leo likes to listen to Rock and Roll while he cooks and cleans up.

The Captain, who cooked the Veal Spezzatini for Friday evening’s dinner, had harvested some fresh bay leaves and one very hot pepper for his recipe.  It looks rather Christmasy, no?

We joined Leo and other friends for a celebration of Ferragosto in Sostegno, as we do every year.  This year we had the Big Meal on Thursday evening.  It was an enormous fish, called in Italian a ‘lucio’ (pike) more than four pounds, that son Silvio had caught the day before.  In fact, it is one of the ugliest fish I’ve ever seen – how about you?  Ever seen one uglier?    But I must say, it was quite delicious once it was filleted and cooked on the grill. In this picture it is soaking in its pre-cooking bath of lemon juice and herbs.

But back to the matter at hand, the Spezzatino di Vitello…

This is something the Captain frequently whips up, and it is always a little different.  The starred recipe, under recipes over on the right, is the way he made it on Saturday, and in spite of the remarkable fish, it wins the nod for the best thing we ate this week. (Sorry, Leo and Silvio – the fish was good, but…)

There were two other Very Good things we ate over the weekend, and they get honorable mention this week: Leo’s mother’s stuffed eggs and Leo’s Polenta Cuncia.  I wish I had a photo of the eggs because they are lovely, and quite different from what we think of when we think ‘deviled eggs.’ For starters, they are green (Get back, Dr. Seuss!).  I do have a photo of the polenta:

Basically polenta cuncia is polenta into which you have stirred massive amounts of cheese and a bit of butter.  It is heavenly, though it makes your arteries scream.  Usually it is served during the cold weather, because it is rich; we had it on Friday because it was pouring rain all day and was rather chilly – it’s a wonderful dish for the upcoming days of autumn and winter.

Recipes are over on the right under the heading Recipes.

Buon Appetito!

Sporca!

13 Wednesday Aug 2008

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

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Recently Saretta has blogged about the large amount of litter and garbage on the streets near her home on the Adriatic in southern Italy (Aug. 2 & 10). I was feeling pretty smug, thinking to myself, ‘Well, at least here in the north there is not nearly so much littering.’

Ha.

It is true,things are not as bad as they once were. The complete kitchen, including cabinets and appliances, that was dumped over the side of our road in one of the ravines has been removed (by whom? when?) and nothing of its ilk has taken its place.

Along the road near our house

A lot of other rubbish has been along the roadside as long as we’ve lived here; I guess I hardly see it any more. But there is plenty of new garbage every day, as I was unhappily reminded when I took my walk this morning.

Not that things are much better in the States. We saw this enchanting sight outside a roadside stop in New Mexico last year.

What I love about the States, though, is the teams of eager do-gooders that get out there and clean up after others. There is no Adopt-a-Highway program here in Italy that I know of, but wouldn’t it be great if there were? I’ve decided to adopt the little stretch of road I walk along almost every day. I’m sure the neighbors will think I’m a raving lunatic, especially as I wear one of those yellow kitchen gloves while doing it (you can be too careful, but this isn’t).  ‘Look!’ they’ll say, ‘l’Americana thinks she’s a duck!!’

I don’t care. I’ll enjoy my walk more without looking at all the plastic along the verge. It would be nice if people would stop littering; it would also be a miracle.  Here’s a picture of the fruits (ha ha) of my first day’s labor as a do-gooder.  I walked less than .25 mile because my bag was filled.

The best thing we ate this week – Tzatziki

10 Sunday Aug 2008

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Friends Bob and Celeste invited us to share a meal cooked by their dear friend and houseguest Julia; it was, she said, a Balkan dinner. I don’t know if it was Balkan or not, but it was was really delicious.

The menu: tzatziki; baba ghannouj ; hummus, without tahina; grilled zucchini; ground beef kebabs; tomatoes with basil; chick peas with lemon, oil and parsley. These were served with couscous, harissa and chopped red peppers on the side. Dessert was perfect, dark red slices

My plate of Balkan food!

My plate of Balkan food!

of cold watermelon, sweet and very juicy. Now how could we possibly single out one dish from so much that was yummy?

By default I’ll give you a recipe for tzatziki (over on the right), which hails from Greece. It is easy to make and perhaps less frequently seen than the ubiquitous baba ghannouj and hummus. It’s a wonderful, cooling summer dish, either as a ‘before’ with pita bread bits or crackers, or served as we had it last night as a condiment with the dinner itself. Hope you enjoy it as much as we do!

You want a purse, lady?

09 Saturday Aug 2008

Posted by in Italy, Liguria, People, Uncategorized

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Haven’t you always wondered about the African guys selling purses, dark glasses and CD’s in every town in Italy? Me too! I always imagined there was some kind of Organization of African Vendors, with a capo who brought young men into the country (legally? illegally?) and then directed them where to go to set up shop. This evil capo, of course, would take all the profits, thereby effectively enslaving the fellows doing all the work. And he was probably running all the prostitutes as well.

Well, I couldn’t have been more wrong. A couple of weeks ago we were on a morning train from Rapallo to Celle. At one of the stops on the outskirts of Genova a whole bunch of Africans with bags of merchandise got on our car. The most picturesque arrival was a woman in a printed African dress, the kind with a long skirt and a top, with matching turban. She had a huge hand-rolled cigarette dangling from her mouth and an I-dare-you expression on her face – wish I’d gotten a photo (I didn’t dare). I did sneak an in-back-of-me shot of a couple of the gents.

After a pleasant day we boarded our train to return to Rapallo, and I ended up sitting next to a young man, clearly of the African vendor fraternity; let’s call him Franco. He turned out to be about the pleasantest person you could imagine, and didn’t mind my pumping him for information.

So here’s what I learned: Almost all the vendors come from Senegal, on Africa’s west coast (formerly a French colony, so French is the official language of the country and the language used in school). Wolof is the official Senegalese African language, and is the native language of about 40% of the population, though there are many other languages. Franco said it was like the different dialects in Italy – someone from the north of Senegal wouldn’t necessarily understand the language of someone from the south. All these languages are based on a different sound system than western languages – which is obvious when you hear it spoken. Franco had to get off before the language lesson got very far, but we both learned ‘man’ = I, and ‘moom’ = he, she, it. That last raises some gender questions.

There is no empire of vendors under the evil thumb of a capo. All the vendors come over independently, usually joining friends or family members who are already here. Franco chose his selling locale because a friend who had been here for 20 years said he did well there. He commutes daily from Busalla, north of Genova, to Pietra Ligure, west of Savona, for his day of work. In the winter he works in Viareggio, well to the south. Unlike sleepy, beachy little Pietra Ligure, Viareggio is still moderately active in the winter. The things he sells are almost all made in Italy, he said. (I did doubt that.)

What surprised me most was that Franco and his friends are legal entrants to the country. He said that he went to the Italian Consulate in Dakar and got a visa to come to Italy. I believed him, in spite of the fact that some studies suggest that up to 50% of immigrants in Italy enter illegally (Senegal accounts for only about 2.5% of immigrants to Italy).  (There are a lot of Pakistani vendors in Italy, too; they seem to specialize in silver jewelry, fabric items and pinwheels, leaving the dark glasses and purses to the Senegalese.)

Another thing that really surprised me is that Franco buys his merchandise from a wholesaler – actually another Senegalese whose ‘warehouse’ is his apartment in Genova. Far from being told what to sell by someone else, it turns out Franco is an entrepreneur!

He’s been here working for two years, but he does get home to visit occasionally. He would like to work and save for another few years and then return home for good.

How brave to leave your homeland, move to a distant country (though not that distant really – 2500 miles or so, about the same as New York to San Fran), hastily learn enough of the language to harangue passers-by, invest your savings (or money borrowed from family and friends) in a stock of dark glasses, and then go stand under the beating sun to sell your goods. Phew. It’s no wonder Franco has such a winning personality – he has to in order to succeed in his line of work.

Can you hear me now??

05 Tuesday Aug 2008

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Writer Michael Grant, whose blog I enjoy a great deal (he’s so cranky!) recently wrote about Italian inefficiency, especially as exemplified in the loooong mid-day break for lunch and whatever.  He observed that Italians rarely take the shortest route between Points A and B.

I have to disagree.  It’s not mainly inefficiency that slows everything in Italy to a creeping crawl.  It’s over-regulation, too much bureaucracy, and an unwillingness to let people act on their own initiative.  I can think of many illustrations of this, but here’s a recent one:

Oh, the things we take for granted! For instance, having a telephone which doesn’t sound like your callers are trying to reach you from the dark side of the moon. Lately this is what all our hard-line phone calls have sounded like:

Us: Pronto!

Caller: snap, chhhhhh, bzzt, hissssss, crack, pip, bzzt ffftttttccccch

Us: Pronto, pronto, we’re having phone trouble, can you speak up?

Caller: Crzzzzk grack, snfffff, zzzzt bfft gritz hsssss. beep beep beep.

The last three recognizable sounds are used by Telecom Italia to inform you that your call has been terminated.

The problem started almost (sit down) two months ago when the Captain was at home alone. Being a sensible and intelligent man he immediately called the phone company. They were not very sympathetic; they barked at the Captain for not having put filters on our two telephones: of course we were having trouble, how stupid could we be (never mind that everything has worked very well for five years).

Of course the filters did nothing, so again the Captain called Telecom, and this being Italy a technician moseyed on over a few days later. He opened a box, found a junction thingy (technical term) and a lot of mud. He removed the latter, replaced the former and declared us back in business.

Except we weren’t. Things were slightly worse. About the time I got home the second technician moseyed on over and crawled around on the floor under the computer (had to try again with those pesky filters – they didn’t work for him either). He then went down to an inside junction box, disconnected and reconnected a lot of wires, declared himself puzzled but confident the problem was solved, and left. Not only was the initial problem unsolved, but we were now without internet access!

Again we approached the Telecom altar, penitent and hopeful – and maybe just a little irritated. How is it they can make us feel that it’s our fault? But they do. This time the high priest was sent with an acolyte. In no time at all he found the wire his colleague had left unconnected, and we were on line again. Phew!

They went back to the outside junction, plugged our wires into a magic box. “Look!” the older one said, showing us a confusing array of numbers on his device. “The problem lies within 50 meters of the house.” Well, pretty much everything lies within 50 meters of the house, but never mind. He further said that it was not a Telecom problem but a problem that would require our electrician. Clearly our outside wires were at fault. He, at least, seemed to know what he was talking about. It’s amazing what a confident air and a magic black box can do for a person.

We summoned Enzo the Electrician, who arrived with his nephew. He looked at everything everyone else had already looked at and declared that the phone wires were not where they should be and that we would have to dig to find them, and then probably replace them.

The Captain’s trench-digging days are happily behind him, so we summoned the Human Backhoe, Giovanni, the Romanian powerhouse who has done more work around here than I can say (it was he, when we moved in, who blithely put a queen-size wooden futon on his back and carried it down 40 steps to the house.  Here he is, waving cheerfully).   He sent  a recently arrived Romanian buddy who brought along his girlfriend, because she speaks Italian.

Turns out this fellow knew something about wires, so he looked at everything everyone else had already looked at.  Then he (and the translator) dug a pair of small trenches, one near the parking platform (under which the phone line passes, we learned to our horror) and one near the house.  He, at least, figured out, with the help of a plan the Captain drew some years ago, where the wires were.

Now we had no telephone and two big holes.

Again, yesterday, Louis called Telecom.  At last, at LAST, two technicians arrived today with some scissors and a big spool of phone line.  They removed a long section of wire off our property and replaced it.  They put a junction box in a sensible place.  The whole operation took an hour.  Our phone is fine now.

Don’t you wonder what the problem was?  Turns out the sheathing had been removed from a section of wires and the wires were touching and making all the static.  Who removed the sheathing?  A RAT.  They like to eat the plastic in the winter.  No accounting for taste, is there?

So to get back to Michael Grant and his points A and B – the Italians will also go from A to B, albeit at a more leisurely pace than an American.  The real problem arises when you are trying to get from point A to point F.  In America the first phone repair guy (point A) would’ve looked around the rural area where we live and said to himself, “Well, I bet its them dang rats again,” pulled out his scissors, and corrected the problem (point F) on his first visit.  But here in Italy there is a protocol to get to point F; in this case it involved filters (point B), an inexperienced technician in the house (point C), another Telecom visit (point D), a licensed Italian electrician (point E) and finally the experienced guy who said, “Oh yeah, probably rats. Let’s fix it.” (I’ve left out the Romanian episodes because we added those on our own; maybe we’re becoming Italian after all!).

If Italy ever wants to become more efficient (and I’m not sure it does) or at least more productive, it will be necessary to cut miles and miles of red tape and allow smart people to use their wits to solve problems.

The Best Thing We Ate This Week – Swordfish with Salsa Cruda

03 Sunday Aug 2008

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This will be, I hope, a weekly posting.  We’ll ask everyone in the house, “What was the best thing we ate this week?” and whatever it is, we’ll post the recipe over on the right under Recipes. * Best Foods* will be marked with *asterisks*.  There are usually only two of us present; we don’t listen to Luciano the cat because he thinks everything is a Best Food.

A couple of things you should know:  The Captain is the Chef; I am the lowly sous-chef and bottle-washer, but also a major eater.  We will frequently differ on what the best food was; in cases of an impasse I will consult with Luciano and we will decide. If we have a guest we will politely defer to the guest’s opinion.

The Captain has opined that there is no such thing as a ‘best’ food.

We seldom eat out, but we’ll include restaurant meals or meals eaten at friends’ houses in our consideration. There may or may not be photos of The Winner, because we don’t photograph everything we eat.  Thank goodness.

And of course we always want to hear about your favorite food of the week.

Permesso, part the second

02 Saturday Aug 2008

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Back in May I told you about our application process for Permesso renewal (read it here).

Amazingly, the Captain received a message on his telefonino instructing him to report to the Questura in Genova on November 13 and to be prepared to be photographed and finger-printed.  Yikes!  It may have to do with the new law whereby all residents will be finger-printed… or it may not.  We’re a bit puzzled.

And we’re amazed that such an important communication would be trusted to a cell phone message… wouldn’t you think a letter, or at least a real call??  Stay tuned.