Italy: Love at first sight

6.12.10

Firenze, Italia

The Italian Garden of Villa I Tatti

Olive groves, rows and rows of vineyards, Cyprus trees towering overhead in long lines, hills offering beautiful views of the surrounding higher hills and nestled villages; these are a few of the virtues of living in an Italian villa overlooking Firenze. It is a shame we are visiting in the winter, for the lemon trees are locked inside, the vines are bare, and the flowers are recuperating from the recent frosts. It is impossible not to appreciate this place for what it is regardless of the season: a tribute to the bounty and beauty of the land. (It is quite telling to note that Lino Pertile, who has opened this treasured villa up to us, still considers Cambridge, Massachusetts, his home and plans to retire there one day, leaving this land of plenty).

This flattering description should not imply that our trip through the Italian Riviera, along the Mediterranean and through the bordering mountains, was devoid of anything spectacular; on the contrary, these last four days – since we landed in Genova aboard a ferry that set sail from Barcelona up until our first day of rest in Firenze – have made us fall in deep, deep love with Italy.

Ancient art meshes so nicely with ivy-shrouded marble staircases, no?

Genova, especially, welcomed us warmly with pastel-colored palaces, archways spanning streets, and a lively mix of grand and accidental architecture. I felt as though I had landed in a mystical land, one that materialized out of the magical salty air of the Mediterranean Sea. The entire first day, whether we were climbing from sea level to traverse the mountains all around or plummeting back toward the blue-green of the seafront and navigating hairpin turns while avoiding the hundreds of motorized scooters on the roads, I was in a state of constant bliss. Undoubtedly, the sun helped and warmed our bones with a power we hadn't felt since Barcelona and before that since who knows when. The mix of sensations was intoxicating, but we knew we had discovered Paradiso.

The past three nights, we have camped out, each one providing a certain story that spans the three extremes of the trip: freezing cold, astonishing natural beauty and power, and adrenaline-inducing danger. The most recent camping found us in the midst of Fucecchio, in a structure that we termed The Fortress. Although we were right off one of the town's main roads, we found a fully enclosed circle of hedges with a 20 foot diameter that completely shut us out from sight. Of course, the noise was still a nuisance, but we felt very safe. Our real enemy that night was the cold, which descended like a bunch of broccoli, catching us by surprise and falling hard.

Towns thriving in the most mountainous conditions

Our schedule when camping is to find a location, set up camp, change clothes, begin cooking dinner, eat at a convenient/fun/warm (i.e. in the tent) spot, clean up, and head back in the tent for map consultation, writing, and eating dessert. This last step is the favorite and most essential one, for we never forget to pick up one or two treats to enjoy in the tent post-dinner. Lately, we have been getting more adventurous, finding a panoply of giant bell-shaped sweet breads, dense and fruity “hard breads,” and cookies and pastries galore. I am still looking out for that perfect biscotti. After we finished our orange- and lemon-flavored hard bread, we went out to brush our teeth. The world we stepped out into was not the one we had left, for it was completely covered by a thick layer of frost. That night, we slept poorly, having to constantly shift positions due to cold and discomfort. I reckon it just goes to show you that Italy in the winter is not at all warm sunshine. Not at all.

The second camping was the ideal spot in terms of security, shelter, and sheer awesomeness. Ladies and gentlegiants, Sean and I that night slept a mere 100 feet from the crashing, roaring, and frothy waves of the Mediterranean Sea.

Firenze, on the banks of the mightsome Arno

The best part is that we found a strip of woods that was not being used in the winter, located a hidden grove, and set up shop. That night, we dined on the finest walnut tortellini around while watching a distant storm whip the sea into a fury. Infrequent bouts of lightning would reveal a bleak void punctuated by the occasional whitecap. Many times while munching, I noticed a funny feeling inside, right next to the tapewormy one and far above the numbness of the feet. I can only describe it as awe and wonder at sitting on the shore of the sea that inspired countless stories from the finest of ancient Western civilizations. And not merely sitting on the sandy beach, watching a mass of black clouds obscuring the stars and reflecting light from the many port towns along the sea, but rather, we had traveled there on our own power and were relying on the sea to be gentle with us that night. In reality, there was a very distinct possibility that a severe storm could cause us harm, which few tourists or strollers-along-the-beach experience. Fortunately, we were spared any real trouble that night, only receiving a light sprinkling that stopped before we awoke.

The final camping [mis(s)]adventure took place on our first night in Italy. I reckon we were again unused to the sun's patterns, having been further south in Spain for two weeks.

That cannon's got beef with the Med

As four o'clock approached, we began searching for a supermarket. It took us a full hour to locate one and finish our shopping, so we stepped out again into the evening just before 17:00. In that hour, the sun had set and the sky was rapidly approaching the color of charcoal. It didn't help that this town was nestled in a valley among the surrounding mountains, resulting in intensified dusk. The rapidity with which we were plunged into darkness resulted in our making some desperate decisions with regard to lodging. Unfortunately, no legitimate options were available, so we began eying parks and grassy rises with little luck. A man in a bike shop offered to take us to the nearest campsite, but when we arrived, we found it had been closed for a month and was reopening the following day. With no other choice, we climbed a small hill next to the campground and pitched our tent on the side lawn of a hotel that was closed for the winter.

Things were going just fine until we noticed the cats. There were at least four of them, prowling around and occasionally getting into quite vocal fights with one another (the sounds they can produce are unearthly). We began cooking dinner and shooed the cats away with a quick get-up-and-run. All of a sudden, I saw a blinding bluish-white flash that my on-edge mind instantly interpreted as a flare gun from one of the neighboring houses down the hill that saw our stove. The deafening boom that issued within seconds brought about the more serious reality: We were camping on a hill among the mountains during a nighttime lightning storm. Not only is this bad, but we had no idea how to reduce our risk of... whatever it is that might happen during a storm. And on top of it all, it began to rain, which is the second-to-last thing you want when camping, right behind lightning. Within 15 minutes, the rain had subsided, allowing us to finish our dinner without getting soaked.

Back in the tent we went for the giant bell of chocolate sweet bread covered in powdered sugar, apparently designed for an entire family during the Christmas season.

Italian Northern Mediterranean coast: so nice

Just as we finished eating, writing, and cleaning up, I turned off my headlamp and discovered a set of headlights streaking across the tent. If you do not know Desert Storm (few have survived the encounter), picture a bright yellow angular tent perched in front of you in the night: It will not be overlooked. Surely enough, the car shut off but then quickly flashed its brights twice as though to let us know we were spotted. And then... nothing happened; no one got out, no more lights, no sounds. Sean and I sat there in the darkness while our hearts beat faster and faster. What could they want? Why would they be here on this dark hill on the outskirts of town just off the busy highway that we could hear? Why won't they say or do anything? No answers came to mind, so we decided to consider the worst possible scenario and get the hell out of that tent. We dressed all in black, gathered our essential possessions, and quickly but smoothly crawled out of the tent and headed directly for the back of the hotel/house we were next to. After a moment's hesitation, someone from the car got out and began following us. That was all we needed to hear, and we took off running as soon as we rounded the corner. There we were, crouched back around in the front of this building, waiting and listening, every muscle tightly coiled and ready to spring to action, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through our systems. After a few minutes, we heard the car start back up and pull back down the hill, stopping before it reached the bottom.

We decided to be as cautious as possible, again considering the worst-case scenario, which was that they were out for us now and knew we would be returning to our base. After 45 minutes without any signs, we gathered ourselves and, headlamp at full blast, marched back to the tent and bikes. No one. Not a soul. Furthermore, nothing of ours seemed to be touched. Relieved but unsure of how to proceed, we debated moving to another spot but decided that it was too late at this point and instead moved the tent to the back of the house, no longer visible from the smallish parking lot there. The rest of the night, we were free of any visitors, cats, or unnervingly loud peals of thunder. Granted, in the morning, a car again materialized in the lot, but we were protected by daylight and made a clean escape.

What could the car have been doing up there? I suppose those in it were probably heading to the small and empty restaurant down the hill and used the lot up there, which might have been designated for both the hotel and the restaurant.

Italian Fog! Concealing Italian ice!

However, this scenario does not fully explain why the person came after us, and why they did not say anything. They sat in their car for a full 10-15 minutes while we were sweating and willing them away. What were they waiting for? Perhaps they were afraid that we would vandalize their car or that it was not otherwise safe up there, but still, why would they come out after us? The bottom line is that they did not mean us harm, for our belongings were just where we had left them, and they did not return to our knowledge.

We learned an important lesson that night, which is to keep out of view of any and all parking lots, no matter how deserted they appear. Also, lightning is scary when you have absolutely no appropriate shelter and it is nighttime. Finally, cats will steal your Parmesan when given the opportunity.