Devistation in the Cinque Terre

Today I am remembering my time in the Cinque Terre in September of  this year.  The town where I stayed is one of the worst hit by the flooding.  Vernazza is under 10 feet of mud and debris.  It is hardly recognizable and they have no idea yet of the number dead and missing.  The town was virtually cut off from the rest of the world, roads washed out, telephone and hydro lines down, no gas, fresh water, or oiutside help.
The town sits along steep hills leading down to the sea and with the heavy rains earlier this week much of the steep slopes were washed away causing a sea of mud and debris to literaly bulldoze all in its way along its path to the sea. Hiking trails are gone, first floor shops along the main street are completely buried in mud.  People and even some houses were swept away. People trapped in the Blue Marlin are grateful to the propieter who was able to knock a hole in a wall so that people could crawl up to the second story; which saved their lives.


It is hard to beleve that this pretty little village may never be the same again.  I treasure my painting of the town now more than ever.  I am particularly pleased that I spent an entire day there, sitting along the sea wall, sketching the town.  I have a new reason to finish that sketch now.

Today rescue teams have finally arrived to begin the massive job of evacuation and clean up.  Heavy machinery had to be brought in on a barge pulled by many tug boats.  The bulldozers have partially cleared a path down the main street but the piles of debris on either side of the path are metres high.  This is allowing rescue teams to evacuate any survivors they manage to find.  Pictures of the inside of the big church in town show several feet of thick mud covering the marble floors and the wooden pews all pushed by the mud to the front of the church as if they were matchsticks.

I think of the 100 steps we had to climb to reach our hotel rooms and doubt they even exist now.  The room I stayed in was a semi basement and I'm sure it must be under water or a sea of mud.  It is a good thing that almost all of the buildings in town are made of stone as nothing else would stand the pressure of so much mud pushing against it.

The Italian people  are no strangers to hardship.  They have remarkable resiliance and a very strong  joie de vive.  Still, it will take much time and perseverance to recover from this devistation....and it won't be cheap either.  At a time when Italy, like other countries in the European Union, is suffering financially, it is not likely that the government will be in a position to provide aid in the clean up or rebuilding.  They will have to rely on the public to contribute what they can.  Lets hope it will be enough to restore all that has been lost.

My thoughts and prayers are with those affected by the devistation, may God give you the strength you need to get through this trying time.

D 

blahhhhh

This morning I woke to the sound of heavy rain.  I slept late and dont even recall hearing the church bells signal the passing of each hour. It is a dreary day here and I dont feel like doing much.  Perhaps I will make some homemade soup and do some laundry and other housework.

Don is arriving on Monday and I am anxious to see him again, it seems so long since we have seen each other.  Although we only had 3 weeks to get aquainted before I left for Italy, we have talked almost everyday on the phone since, not to mention the countless emails back and forth.  I think we have both learned alot about each other while I have been here.  I am looking forward to playing tour guide and sharing my favorite places with him.  I wonder if he will feel as infatuated with Tuscany as I am.

The hotel is quiet today, the regular locals have come and gone this morning, drinking their coffee and chatting a few minutes with the owner before pulling up their hoods and opening their umbrellas to venture back out into the rain.  I wonder how they spend the rest of their days. 

This really is a quiet little town, sleepy almost, now that most of the tourists renting places here have left.  I have become familiar with some of the locals routines and I could set a clock by them.  The local women head down the hill each morning to the little CoOp grocery store to buy their food for the day.  Some of the older ladies, clothed in black, stooped over and wearing only slippers on their swollen feet, make this trek every morning and it is heartbreaking to watch their slow progress, especially when they are climbing back up the hill with their purchases.  I have offered to help, but they are very proud, and insist on doing it themselves.  There is a man who is 100 years old who walks every day, stooped over so low he can only see what is directly in front of his feet, as he shuffles along.  He uses two canes, which prevents him from using an umbrella.  His steps are tiny and he can barely lift his feet at all.  I cannot imagine how is does this in the winter.  I see him out and about several times a day and he always lifts his head to greet me with a smile on his face.  He also refuses any assistance, but I have noticed that some of the locals stop by to check on him throughout the day. 

There is another man that spends a half hour, several times a day, at the lookout point in town.  He never sits on the park benches but instead stands at the railings, surveying the valley below.  It is as if he knows every square inch of it and checks to ensure nothing has changed since his last visit there.  From the look on his face he loves this land, this place, this view.  He has probably spent his entire life here, as many of the elders here have.  I envy them.  They are not concerned with technology, the information age,the economic crisis, nor the pace of life in other parts of the world. Thier world is right here, in their village, with their neighbours and friends and families.  They look forward to every day and seem to truly appreciate the beauty surrounding them.  They are not rushed, thier lives are not hectic.  They seem so genuine, friendly and caring.  I will miss the way of life here when I go back home.

Ciao for now, time to go do housework....blahhhhhh
Diane

The Change of Seasons in Tuscany

Yesterday I drove into Pienza to mail some things and to buy time for my cell phone.  On the way I noticed how the scenery is changing.  Fields have been tilled, grapes have been harvested, and the vines are now taking on many shades of yellow, gold, and even some crimson.  Although there are not many maples here, there are a few trees now sporting the reds, oranges and golds of autumn.

The leaves on the chestnut trees are all a rust colour and many have already been shed.  The nuts litter the ground beneath the trees and stain the streets where they have been crushed by passing cars. 

 In the olive groves nets are spread on the ground so as not to lose any of the precious fruit.  It is interesting that some of the olives have already ripened to black while others on the same tree are still green or green with a purplish tinge to them. 

 In some groves I saw large crates and many ladders in preparation for the day’s picking.  It can take several weeks to harvest the olive crop, depending on the weather, maturity of the olives and the size of the grove.  It is all done by hand here.  

I plan to participate in the picking on some local farms. I also noticed how much darker the cypress trees seem against the colours of the tilled fields and yellow leaves.  They seem to look even more majestic now stretching up to the autumn sky. 

It is windy here again today and the sky is dark with clouds.  Back home you would think they were carrying snow or freezing rain, but here they are just pushed along high above us by the strength of the north wind.  They cast shadows on the ground below making the fields seem as if they are alive and dancing to the music of the wind whistling and the rustle of many leaves.  The grey skies give the impression of coldness but the temperature is quite pleasant.  You might even call it balmy. It is amusing to watch the people in town, bundling themselves up, as if against a cold winter night, when the temperature is actually quite warm.  Is it the wind or the dark sky that signals us to believe in a need to bundle up?  

The sun sets earlier and much faster now, and the temperature drops quickly once the sun is gone.  I like being out in the evening though, the smell of wood smoke in the air and the crunch of leaves under my feet is somehow both invigorating and calming.  It is this type of weather that inspires me to cook hearty meals of stews and soups served with warm homemade bread.  Fall is such a bountiful time.  Fresh fruits and vegetables, especially apples, pumpkins and other squash, and of course root vegetables like beets, turnips and carrots  tempt me to roast, stew, bake and sauté them.  The time of apple crisp and pumpkin pie is upon us and I have no one to cook for.  I will have to make up for that when I get back home.  I love baking and cooking but it’s not the same if it is only for me.  Last year I baked dozens of cookies, all of my favourite varieties, filled numerous cookie tins, tied ribbons around them, and gave them as Christmas gifts to my friends and family.  I also made homemade truffles and packed tins with them too.  I enjoyed that immensely and I find that for me, giving something I have made myself feels more genuine than going shopping.  I make shortbreads, sugar cookies cut in Christmas shapes, gingerbread, molasses cookies, chocolate chip, oatmeal with raisins; thumbprints rolled in chopped walnuts and filled with jam, almond stars with apricot jelly, and chocolate macaroons. I love the smell of something baking in the oven and when I bake I usually have joyful music playing, mulled apple cider to sip and a song in my heart.  I spend days that way in December, preparing for Christmas. I enjoy that so much more than shopping.  I remember my mom making donuts for Christmas, plain ones, and my favourites, rolled in cinnamon and sugar.  She used to buy flour in gold pails which she kept once they were empty, and every Christmas she would fill one with plain donuts and the other with cinnamon ones.  When I helped by shaking the hot donuts in a paper bag filled with the sugar mixture, I would get a reward of some donut holes rolled in sugar and cinnamon. To this day I can’t pass by that type of donut without my mouth watering. It is one of my fondest memories of my childhood.  So many wonderful memories are attached to specific foods for me.  Is it like that for everyone, or is that the reason I have a weight problem???

Time for dinner.....

Ciao

Diane

The more I rush, the longer it takes

Yesterday I went to Sinalunga to buy some time on my cell phone, pick up a few groceries and then visit the Outlet Mall near there.
After I got up , cleaned up, and had my morning tea I set off to the hotel to check my email before leaving town.  Of course, I had forgotten it was Monday, and the hotel was closed...so no internet access for me.  Then I decided to go to Sinalunga so I went back to the house to drop off my laptop, pick up a bottle of water, and the car keys and be off.  It was already close to 10 AM.  I reached to pick up my camera off the dining table and when I straightened up the fringe on my scarf caught on the neck of the bottle of olive oil I bought on the weekend.  In slow motion it tipped and then crashed to the floor.  The glass bottle seemed to almost explode on the tile floor sending shards of green glass and a litre of olive oil all over the room. I'm sure the neighbours heard what I had to say about that!
Now the problem was to figure out how to clean it up.  Oil on a tile floor makes it very slippery.  I grabbed the broom and threw some paper towels onto the floor which I moved around with the broom, trying to gather as much of the oil and glass to one place as I could.  I must have used a roll of paper towels this way before finally soaking up enough of the oil to warrant trying to clean the rest up with a mop and hot water.  Still my feet were slidding all over and I had to steady myself by holding onto furniture.  In order to have hot enough water to disolve the oil I had to heat it on the stove. I tried using a sponge mop but it wasn't working very well and the retractable handle kept coming loose and sliding into itself.  It really was useless, no wonder the Italians don't use them!  Then I remembered the long handled scrub brush the landlord bought for me to use as a mop, and the thick cloths in the cleaning bucket upstairs.  I had to remove my shoes as they were still full of oil and went to retirieve the "mop" and pail. I used the kitchen sink insead of a pail, less bending that way, and filled it with the hot water and lots of dish soap.  I soaked the cloths in the hot water and wrung them out.  I threw one on the floor and used the mop to push it around and it worked beautifuly.  The Italian way was actually the best way...who knew???  I had to repeat this many times before all of the oil residue had been cleaned up.  Then I had to wash off the bottom of my shoes as well as the broom and dust pan. A glance at the clock told me it had taken nearly an hour and a half to clean up the mess....all because I had been in a rush....or maybe just because I am clumsy???
Today I'm off to Pienza.
Ciao
Diane

Time Keeps on Slipping, Slipping, into the Future

Today I came to the realization that over half of my time here in Tuscany has passed by.   I cannot believe how quickly it has gone.  I am looking forward to the second half of my stay perhaps more than I did the first.  A very special person in my life is coming to stay with me for the last 5 weeks of my time here, and I couldn’t be any happier about that. 

Isn’t it interesting how we perceive time; from one perspective it seems that the six and a half weeks I have been here have just flown by, yet from another perspective it seems like I have been away for months.   As a child, waiting for Christmas seemed such a long time, yet as an adult it arrives in the wink of an eye.  Summer holidays from school seemed almost endless, but now years seem to go by in less time than those summers did. What is it that makes us perceive time so differently?  What role does anticipation have in this oddity?  It seems a week can drag on forever if there is a reason to want the weekend to arrive.  Now that I am retired, weekends no longer really matter, I can do what I want, whenever I want to and the days seem to pass so quickly.  I don’t think it is simply a matter of the span of time one has lived influencing our perception of time.  If that were the case  then all perceptions of time would quicken as we age and that just isn’t the case; ask someone who is waiting for medical test results or an person waiting for an organ donor. 

Does our perception of time have anything to do with our ability to live in the present moment rather than in the past or for the future?  If we are focused on waiting for something to happen does that influence our perception of time?  If we are unable to let go of aspects of our past's, how does that impact time perception?  Why is it said that animals have no concept of time?

I obviously have way  too much time on my hands to be spending it contemplating such questions.

Yesterday I finished a small watercolour painting I had started weeks ago and then set aside.  Already though I am not satisfied with it and want to make changes.  I have another larger piece that I started while in the Cinque Terre using chalk pastels that also is unfinished.  I have decided that I do not enjoy working with pastels as they are so messy and difficult to use in small areas.  I have done some work on that piece since coming back to Castelmuzio, but mostly by adding watercolours to the picture.   

Today the commune of Trequanda had festivities in Castelmuzio celebrating the upcoming harvest of olives for the making of oil.  There was free food and local wines to sample as well.  People came from all over the region, filled their plates and sat at long communal tables to eat and talk with friends.  They were also selling local wines, cheeses, meats, honey and olive oil.  I bought a bottle of local red wine, some honey and a bottle of oil from La Pieve,  the family farm of my landlords, the Cenni family.

In town the fountain in the park has been repaired and refilled with water....the fish have not been returned to their home however.  It looks a little strange with a single spout of water shooting about 5 feet high in the centre of a pool of water about 2 feet deep.  It certainly is noisy as well, I won’t be using the park anymore to make phone calls as I won’t be able to hear.

This afternoon I brought my sketchpad, pencils and a chair and sat in the courtyard in front of the hotel sketching it.  I went into the bar for a hot cappuccino which I brought outside to warm me up.  As the sun started to go down the temperature dropped enough that my hands were not functioning properly so I had to stop for today and bring my supplies home.  Fall is definitely upon us.

Tonight I am sitting in the bar at the hotel and it is very crowded because there is a soccer game on TV.  All of the locals are here and there is a special on pizza tonight, and I know from past experience the pizza here is wonderful, even the margarita with only tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese.  The chef has come all the way from Naples for tonight.  So, the party continues!

Ciao!

D.

A New Discovery

Castelmuzio is a very small place.  When I decide to eat out rather than cook I go to the small hotel/restraint/bar/pizzeria in the centre of town called Locanda di CasalMustia.  The food is good and it is not expensive.  Last night Christine and I decided to try the Wine Bar just beyond the entrance to the village called Moscadella.  Although I have enjoyed the food at the hotel,   Moscadella is definitely a cut above.  The little borgo is also a small hotel that has rooms, suites, and even 2 lovely apartments for rent.  There is a restaurant, a wine bar, and even a wellness centre as well.  The restorations done on this borgo are top notch and the results are both impressive and beautiful.  The atmosphere is classy but relaxed and homey at the same time. The patio used by the restaurant, has a wonderful view and huge shade umbrellas and even a stage regularly used for live music. The views are spectacular from all of the patios and there is even a swimming pool.  Roberta and Geraldo , the owners of the complex have decorated the place with beautiful antiques including many photos of Castelmuzio taken during and after WW2.  Roberta is from Castelmuzio and her husband is from Sinalunga.  We were lucky enough to be given a tour of the place by Roberta.  She is obviously very proud of her property, and rightly so, it is very impressive.  She is also the chef and prepared a meal for us that was both amazing and unusual. 

We started with a serving of homemade ravioli stuffed with spinach and ricotta in a light butter sauce with a hints of basil and rosemary.  The pasta was so light it melted in my mouth and the filling was sublime.  Roberta had grated some fresh parmesan over the pasta which melted and blended wonderfully with the spinach and ricotta. 

What followed was a wonderful surprise.  This area of Tuscany is famous for its Pecorino cheese, made from fresh sheep’s milk.  It is ripened and flavoured to create quite a variety of textures and flavours.  Roberta prepared each of us a plate with wedges of Pecorino Fresco, Pecorino Midi and Pecorino Forte.  There were also 2 little pots of homemade jelly, one of fig and the other of apricot, and a basket of fresh Tuscan bread.  I never would have thought of combining cheese with fig or apricot jellies but the flavours complement each other wonderfully.  The delicate flavours are served with salt less Tuscan bread which is intentionally quite bland so as not to overpower.  I preferred the Pecorino Fresco with the fig jelly while Christine preferred the apricot.  It was all delicious and quite satisfying.  The Fresco cheese is very mild and semi soft with a very creamy texture.  The Midi variety is firmer and aged a little longer than the fresco.  It has a crumbly texture and a more full bodied taste that goes wonderfully with a good red wine.   The Pecorino Forte is stronger and drier with a consistency like aged cheddar.  Even its strong flavour paired well with jelly and red wine. 

 It was a wonderful evening and felt more like having dinner at a friend’s than a restaurant.  The walk home is a little over a kilometre and all uphill, which allowed us to convince ourselves we were actually burning off at least some of the calories we had consumed.  I will definitely eat there again, many times I think.  I can’t wait to try more of Roberta’s creations!

Returning to the Scene of the Crime

Tuesday I decided to go to Sinalunga to get groceries.  When I reached the town it was a hive of activity, there was a huge outdoor market and all the streets had been blocked off.  I parked the car on an overpass and walked back to the beginning of the market stalls.  They were selling everything from clothing to pets, and tools to linens and food.  There were many stalls selling cooked pork with whole roasted pigs being carved up right before your eyes.  I had no idea Italians were so fond of candy, there were countless candy booths with varieties I had never seen before.  I discovered  anise tasting chips called Brigidini  that seemed to be everywhere.  I walked for miles, checking out all the stalls as I went.  Even pets were being sold and I saw the most adorable Yorkie puppy, had I been at home he would have come home with me.  

 It seemed that at every intersection streets were closed and the booths continued in each new direction. After several hours I grew tired and started back the way I had come.  When I arrived at the traffic circle I could not figure out which of the exits I had come from.  I wandered from one road  to the other for what seemed like hours before I finally recognized a booth that led me back to where I had parked the car.  It had turned very warm and I was not dressed for it.  By the time I reached the car I was overheated, dehydrated and had a headache.

 I headed back the way I had come and selected the GPS directions for home.  When I saw the sign for Trequanda I thought that it was odd as I did not remember coming that way.  When the GPS led me up a narrow street higher into the village I began to get suspicious that something was not right.  There was no place to turn around so I had to keep going.  The GPS instructed me to turn left up into a wide area overlooking the valley and bordered by a low stone wall on one side and an archway on the other.  I immediately recognized this place, even before the GPS informed me that my destination was on the other side of the archway.  There were still lines of black paint clinging to the jagged rocks on both walls of the archway, reminders of my last visit here.    Those damned trolls were at it again!!!  This time I would not fall for their tricks. 

The street that led me here was only wide enough for one car and was a one way street.  I could not continue along that street as there were trucks parked on its shoulder with not enough room to get past them. I could not go through the archway.  I had no choice but to go back the way I had come...the wrong way on a one way street.  In order to make the turn onto that street i had to do a 5 point turn and then headed down the street slowly, aware that I might meet another car at any moment.  Almost immediately I met a car coming the other way and although I’m sure the drivers gestures were not complimentary, she did back up so that I could get by her.  On a sharp curve further on, a larger vehicle quickly rounded the corner and almost hit me head on.  I did not have to guess what his gestures meant!  I backed up as far as I could but the road just was not wide enough for him to pass.  Grudgedly, he backed up until I was able to get by him....and felt it necessary to inform me that this was a one way street, as if I hadn’t already figured that out.  I slowly made my way down the hill until I arrived at an intersection where I could get off that street.  If the GPS had not been installed in the dash of the car it would have taken flight out the window, over the cliff, and smashed on the rocks below.

 I figured out the correct directions and travelled back to Castelmuzio without the assistance of the trolls or their equipment.   I found the operating instructions booklet in the glove compartment and brought it up to the house to try to figure out how to erase the destination in Trequanda.  The entire book is in French, of course.  I had already tried to erase the destination without any luck; and even tried to change its name, which did not seem to be possible.  Although the French words in the manual were not familiar to me, I was eventually able to figure out how to erase the dreaded location from the GPS.  I hope I never find myself there again!

Autumn in Tuscany

Today, October 2^nd, is another gloriously beautiful day.  The sun is shining and there is not a cloud in the sky.  There are little indicators everywhere that this corner of the world is preparing for fall.  The man who sweeps the park and the town square showed up last week with a helper and a leaf blower.  The leaves and ripe chestnuts have begun to fall from the trees in the square.  In the park a generator and a hose were used to drain the water from the fountain where the goldfish live.  I hope someone netted the fish and has taken them home to care for them over the winter.  One little fish avoided the net by hiding in the rocks in the centre of the pond and the birds have been squawking and fighting over its remains. 

The children are back at school and wait for their yellow school bus on the corner below my kitchen window.  It is chilly in the mornings now and they all wear light jackets.  When they come back at 1:30 the jackets are either tied around their waists or carried in hand.  Mornings and evenings are cool now but the afternoons are still in the high to mid 20 degrees range.  The little salamanders that live here search out rock walls and clay roof tiles on which to sun themselves in the heat of the day.

In the valley below the village, plumes of smoke drift and curl gently away from the small fires lit to burn fall leaves and garden refuse.  Soon the farmers will be trimming trees in their olive groves and burning the discarded branches.  I still remember the smell of the burning olive wood from my last visit 3 years ago.

The little Co-op grocery store has changed to its fall hours, and the hotel bar/restaurant no longer serves dinner at the little tables in the piazza. In the evening, the air is crisp and often carries the comforting smell of wood smoke on the breeze. In the past few days, early in the morning, I have heard gunshots and wonder if the hunting season for wild boar or deer has already begun.

 The sun is setting earlier now and the lights of the near by borgos and villages twinkle like stars in the distance.  The night sky is full of stars and it surprises me to see the same constellations that are visible almost half a world away at home.   When I wake early enough, I can watch the sun come up from my bedroom balcony, turning the distant hills and Mount Amiata delightful shades of pink and mauve, just like in my painting of the Val d’Orcia.

The geraniums in big clay pots on the roof deck seem to enjoy the cooler weather and are blooming profusely.  The ivy covering the wall of the house opposite me is also sporting new growth, a bright lime green in colour, much lighter than the older leaves on other parts of the vines.  Perhaps, the plants know just as the locals who live here know, it is just too hot in summer to do anything other than sleep the afternoons away. 

Everything here seems to have taken on a new kind of energy, even a sense of urgency.  Activity levels have increased in alignment with the rhythms of nature.  Autumn is harvest time in Tuscany.  There is much to do before the onset of winter.   There are grapes to harvest, and wine to make, and meat to cure for the long winter months ahead. It is time to gather and dry mushrooms and take the dogs to secret places in the woods in pursuit of elusive truffles.   It is time to till the land and prepare the vineyards for their winter sleep.  The olive groves must be checked regularly to ensure their fruit is picked at just the right time to yield the best oil.   There are local markets and numerous festivals to attend in celebration of a bountiful harvest.  The land and its people are alive with activity, practicing age old traditions, in tune with nature and the rhythm of life here in rural Tuscany.