ITALY, GERMANY, AND MORE!

Sometimes, happiness can be measured in grams!

We couldn’t leave Siena without one last visit to our favorite restaurant, La Taverna di San Guieseppi.

La Taverna is a very special place. It specializes in Tuscan cuisine and is often rated the best restaurant is Siena. It is really well run with great attention to detail. The service is outstanding; visible when you want something but unobtrusive when you don’t. The service, although friendly, never gets in the way of your meal.

Karl was particularly struck by this one time when, shortly after we sat down, a complimentary glass of Prosecco appeared to right of his plate. He didn’t see it being placed there; no one interrupted our conversation to take credit for it, it just appeared. After we ordered our food, Karl noticed that the empty glass was gone. Again, he didn’t notice a waiter, the glass just disappeared!

Our farewell visit was during truffle season, which a big deal in Tuscany and other parts of Italy. Karl loves truffles and had enjoyed pasta with black truffles a day or two earlier. La Taverna’s menu, which changes seasonally, had several truffle items which had just been added. Two of the items featured white truffles. The common truffle is rare and black. White truffles are much rarer and white. And much more expensive. Karl thought, well, when in Tuscany during truffle season, do as the Toscani, do so he decided to have white truffle pasta first, followed by a beef filet with white truffles.

Partly because of their cost, truffle dishes usually have just a little grating of truffle on them. At La Taverna, a waiter rolled up a cart to our table on which he had Karl’s pasta, a bowl covered by a linen napkin, a grater, and a scale! The waiter reverently unwrapped the truffle from the napkin, put it on the scale, tared (zeroed) out the scale and began vigorously grating away, putting the truffle back on the scale from time to time to see how much truffle was on the pasta. When he got to nine grams (about three tenths of an ounce) he served the pasta with a flourish.

It was outstanding, as was Leslie Ruth’s pasta with zucca (pumpkin) sauce.

When it was time for our second courses, out came the cart with Karl’s steak, the scale, and the lovingly wrapped white truffle. For this dish, the headwaiter himself, Lucca, did the honors, grating a full 10 grams onto the steak.

Again, both dishes we ordered, Karl’s steak

and Leslie Ruth’s Tuscan Chianti based beef stew

were outstanding, as was the Chianti one of the owners had recommended.

Dessert was special. When we had visited La Taverna earlier this trip, we had asked for their wonderful candied pear, only to be told, ”well, no, you can’t have candied pear, we aren’t really in the height of the season. We can give you candied peach, though” (which was excellent, but just not as good as the candied pear we remembered so fondly). This time, pears, like truffles, were in season and we both had one.

After dinner, one of the two owners (a father and son, this was the son) came by to say ciao and offer us some grappa, sort of a brandy made by fermenting the pulp and skins left over after grapes are crushed and the juice is poured off to make wine. It is then distilled and aged. Mateo explained that this grappa was made by a friend of his father who was a retired wine maker. He produces only 50 bottles a year; La Taverna gets eight of them.

Some grappa is firewater. Some grappa is good. Some, like the Brunello Reserva grappa we tasted with Karl’s sister Jane and bother-in-law Jim earlier this trip, is excellent. This was outstanding, even better than the Brunello. Leslie Ruth and Karl shared one glass (needless to say, they dole it out very sparingly) and it was a perfect end to a perfect meal.

We won’t be back to La Taverna for quite a while, but we have the memories of this outstanding meal to remember it by!

(On rereading the title of this post it occurs to your dedicated bloggers that some of our readers who knew us in our youth may have misinterpreted it. It just goes to show you must not jump to conclusions!)

More on why we study Italian

We stopped in Florence for a day on our way to Barcelona where we caught our ship home. While there, we wandered around revisiting some of our favorite areas and found ourselves at one of the sprawling outdoor leather markets at lunch time. We decided to stop in again at the Casa del Vino, a tiny wine store selling wine by the glass or the bottle and a limited menu of outstanding sandwiches. After some discussion with the owner, we decided to try the house red, a Tuscan Sangiovese. While waiting for our porchetta sandwiches, we managed to score two of the six or eight seats. We balanced our glasses of wine on the nearest shelf.

Casa del Vino is, as I said, tiny, consisting of a small wine bar and and a small sandwich bar along one wall; along the other are a two person bench, two small tables and a few chairs. Most patrons stand. The walls are filled with shelves with wine bottles. One of the tables is at the far corner, and has four seats around it. This corner table seems to be reserved for a few rather elderly gentlemen (for the purposes of this blog, ”rather elderly” means older than Karl). There were four of them at the table; it was clear they were held in high esteem.

The leather market fills the adjacent streets with dozens and dozens of booths which are dismantled and carted to storage each evening, and retrieved and reassembled each morning. They extend about halfway across the sidewalks. Workers from the market go to Casa del Vino for a quick glass or two of wine and a sandwich all day long. Many of them stop to pay their respects to the elderly gentlemen in the corner. Leslie Ruth was sitting shoulder to shoulder with one of the elderly gentlemen.

The youngest of the elderly gentlemen bought a bottle of higher end Chianti and was pouring for the others when he noticed Leslie Ruth examining the bottle. He and Leslie Ruth got into a discussion of the wine’s origins and he insisted on pouring a glass for Karl, whose glass was empty. Karl objected politely but then accepted it with pleasure, thanking the gentleman for his generosity. It was a really good Chianti and he expressed his enjoyment. By this time we’d begun talking to all of the elderly gentlemen. One of them told Leslie Ruth not to be bothered by the Chianti owner’s attentions, saying, “he just likes women.” Leslie Ruth immediately responded, “well, he may like women, but I see he gave the glass of wine to the man!

The Chianti owner (he had bought a second bottle by now) then insisted on pouring Leslie Ruth a glass, and refilling Karl’s. We talked with all the elderly gentlemen, as well as with many other men who came into the shop, all of whom knew each other.

To our surprise, it turned out that one of the elderly gentlemen was actually from Libya. He was a Jew and had been forced to leave immediately after the Six Day War when, apparently, many Libyans were angry about the humiliation of the forces which had invaded Israel. They blamed their Jewish citizens for their perceived support of Israel during the war. The gentleman we met related how he escaped with the clothes on his back and “$100” (not sure if he meant this literally, whether he meant what would be $100 in today’s dollars or in 1967 dollars, but, anyway, very little money). He’d ended up in Florence, worked odd jobs, gone into business, and, it appeared from his clothes and demeanor, done quite well. He’d been visiting the Casa del Vino since it was owned by the current owner’s grandfather; the store was even older.

Another gentleman we had assumed was Italian turned out to be a Peruvian who had been in Florence for 40 years. Yet another was from Angola.

An actual native Italian was introduced to us. He had something to do with a company which made the cantucci biscuits which the store sold. He insisted Leslie Ruth try a sample. Another gentleman objected strenuously that she couldn’t eat cantucci without dunking it in Vin Santo, and insisted on getting her a glass. Leslie Ruth kindly shared both the cantucci and the Vin Santo with Karl and we continued talking with the group until, one by one, they left. (Actually, they didn’t go far, just outside the store to have cigarettes, an activity in which Karl and Leslie Ruth, despite their general embrace of local culture, did not join).

It was a wonderful interlude. Although the only language being spoken was Italian, several of the men we talked to turned out not to be Italian, but Italian was the primary language they had used for years. Until we got to talking, we thought that the differences in their Italian just meant they were from different parts of Italy.

We could never have had this adventure without speaking Italian. As recently as a year And a half ago we wouldn’t have understood half of what was being said, and would have struggled to express ourselves. Now, we understood most of what was being said and had no trouble joining in the give and take between the gentlemen. Our Italian wasn’t pretty, but it wasn’t tortured, either. We were able to throw in some pronouns, mostly where they belonged, got our prepositions more or less right, and used other tenses than the beginner’s present and past perfect. We had a wonderful adventure and met some wonderful people.

That’s a lot of why we study Italian.

La Bellezza della Campagna

The countryside around the Via Francigena in central Tuscany is breathtakingly beautiful. Soft sage, pink, violet, Siena, and light olive colors envelop the hiker in blissful after blissful scene. Whiffs of olives and grapes complement the visual feast. Walking through this beauty is incredibly uplifting and restoring. A hiker could repeat this walk every year and never tire of it.

Home stretch

It is going to take us a while to get back to Virginia, but we are on the way.

We left Siena on October 30 and went to Florence so we could catch a flight to Barcelona the next day. In Florence, our paths crossed one last time with Jane and Jim, who had been traveling in the Naples area and were on their way back to Siena for more school. We shared a great dinner with them,with Jane, Jim, and Karl enjoying the famous bistek Florentine.

The flight to Barcelona was bumpy but quick, and we soon found ourselves enjoying the architecture, wide boulevards,and fresh fishand tapasin the city. We even managed to find fresh sardines.We first discovered them 6 years ago in Santiago, Spain, at the end of our 1,000 mile walk. They are salty and firm but tender, and nothing like what my Pop Hale used to buy in a tin and eat on saltine crackers.

We did not do anything in particular for sightseeing because we had visited most of the sights previously. As you might expect from us, though, we covered 40 kilometers in two days, just hanging out and soaking it all in, from the wide beachto the Gothic Quarterand beyond. We lucked out because there were no violent demonstrations unlike a few days before our arrival.

We boarded our ship on Sunday November 3.Leslie celebrated with real ketchup on a hamburger based ketchup delivery systemas we bid adios to Barcelona and Hola to our 2019 Atlantic crossing adventure.

Oh Toscana

The view from our room in San Miniato

The view from the highest point in San Miniato

Anything else I could say would be superfluous.

Why we walk and study Italian

Three years ago, when we walked the Cammino di Francesco from Assisi to Rome, we put up a post entitled “Why We Walk” (which is here if you’d like to read it). This is a follow up on the same subject after studying Italian for a few years.

Walking, we experience some of the most wonderful, unplanned and unexpected moments. Today, we set off from Lucca to Altopascio with a bit of concern. Leslie Ruth hyperextended her knee a little in the hills between Camaiore and Lucca, which was causing some pain. We found a knee brace at a farmacia, and took it easy in Lucca, although there was so much to see we did walk 16 kilometers (10 miles). With ibuprofen, Leslie Ruth’s pain was manageable, and, after a good night’s sleep, she felt ready to carry her pack the 18 kilometers (a little more than 11 miles) to Altopascio.

She did well, but, after about 12 kilometers she was ready for some more ibuprofen, or vitamin I, as walkers call it, and we were both ready for a break. We stopped in Porcari; all we knew about the town was that it had the only bar for the rest of our day’s walk.

There was some sort of fair going on, and the bar was full of locals eating, drinking, and interacting with the owner. Now that our Italian has improved, we understood most of what was being said and we were able to join right in. When she found out we were pilgrims walking the Via Francigena, the owner pulled out a lovely pastry, cut it into four pieces, and gave it to us a gift. Karl asked about her espresso machine(we’d never seen one like it) and she explained that their coffee producer had designed it himself.

Had we not had kilometers we wanted to go before we slept, we could have spent hours there, it was so much fun.

Refreshed, we continued to Altopascio, arriving in time for lunch. We like to make lunch our main meal of the day if we finish walking in time, so we chowed down.

This evening, we didn’t feel like eating dinner, so we went into town for a glass of wine. What a scene we discovered at the local bar! They were doing apericena (or aperifood, as they called it), where they lay out a lavish buffet which any customer can enjoy.Sort of an Italian happy hour. We drank Montecarlo wine, the local white, which was excellent. We weren’t too hungry, but we nibbled at some items on the buffet.

The bar had a great meat counter with all sorts of meat and cheese.The counterman took a liking to us and gave us a small platter with some of his lardo (lard – which may not sound good but tasted wonderful)and some of his porchetta, which was up there with the best we’ve ever had.

Leslie Ruth, who has studied porchetta over the years, threw up her arms and told the counterman the porchetta was bellisima! They had an animated conversation about all sorts of things, including the problems the United States was having. He assured her everything would be all right; all we had to do was eat more porchetta!

Someone from the bar took a picture of us to post on the bar’s Facebook page, which inspired Karl to post a review of the bar on Google Maps (search for La Dogana Altopascio if you would like to read it). The barista translated it for the rest of the staff, and they loved it.Once again, we could have stayed for hours, but tomorrow’s walk beckoned, and we made a reasonably early night of it.

That’s why we walk and study Italian.

A long walk to an old city

Today, Thursday, we walked from Camaiore to Lucca, a little over 25 kilometers (15.6 miles) with an ascent of 375 meters (1,230 feet) and a descent of 392 meters (1,286 feet).Not the furthest we’ve walked (we once did 43 kilometers on the Cammino di Francesco) or the highest climb or descent (the Grand Canyon last spring was 1,449 meters or 4,754 feet each way) but the hardest walk this trip, and it was tiring.

There were no services after a town 8 kilometers into the walk, so we bought sandwiches there. They were so full of meat and especially cheesethat they got us to Lucca with cheese to spare. We arrived in Lucca, a Medieval walled city proud of our walk, but ready to put our feet up. Fortunately, our hotel served drinks and snacks, so we settled in for an apericena that served as dinner.While we were at it, we finished off the remainder of the pecorino from Leslie Ruth’s sandwich.

Tomorrow is a planned layover day for us to explore Lucca. Last time we were here was during ComicCon, the biggest Comic Book festival in Europe, and the city was completely crazy and inhabited by comic book characters, super heros, transformers, and all sorts of other oddities.We’re hoping it will be more normal during this visit.

Saint Peter, marble, and the importance of gender

On Tuesday, we walked from Messa to Pietrasanta. As is so often the case with the towns through which we are walking, we had never heard of Pietrasanta. In order to remember the name of a new town, Karl likes to look for a hook, some sort of mnemonic to help remember it. Pietrasanta was easy, he thought, it’s obviously named after Saint Peter. It never occurred to him to consider basic Italian grammar and ask himself why a town named after Saint Peter would be called Pietrasanta and not Pietrosanto.

It was only after passing many marble processing plants,seeing many marble sculptures all over the townand being reminded by a sign that Pietrasanta was where Michaelangelo found the most beautiful marble in all of Italy that Karl had a forehead slapping epiphany. Not holy Peter, holy stone! Stone, or pietra, is feminine, so it takes the feminine version of holy, or santo, which is Santa: Pietrasanta.

Anyway, an epiphany is always welcome after a lovely walk and Karl and Leslie Ruth were happy to visit a new town whose name they will never forget!

The town revels in sculpture, and not just marble.

Some are religioussome glorify the various rulers, such as this Medici family lion.Some are terrifyingand some are whimsical.

There is a very interesting museum which has models and castings from which many sculptures were made.Some of the models have marks from the artist, perhaps showing changes to be made.Some of the resulting sculptures are on display in the town; others are in museums all over the world. It was fascinating to see the preliminary work from which the final sculptures arose.

Too much of a good thing

We were very excited when we walked into the town of Massa in Tuscany and saw trees hanging full of beautiful, grapefruit-sized ripe oranges.The trees lined the streets and piazzas and walkways, emitting sweet orange perfume.

That is, we were excited until we were viciously attacked by falling fruit. The breeze came up and large orbs started falling inches from our heads as we walked by. Smash! Splat!

What a mess the oranges make!So much of a mess that the city has to send out crews to sweep the sidewalks and streets.The sweet sticky goo is slippery too.

If you ever visit Massa in mid-October, watch your head, and don’t slip!

Some say the streets in heaven are paved with gold

In the Carrara area, the streets aren’t paved with marble, but marble is used for just about everything else. The white veins of marble in the mountains can be seen for miles awayand there are dozens of marble processing plants.Of course, we knew marble was used for beautiful statues.What we weren’t expecting was to see it used for so many other things. Need a staircase for an otherwise unpretentious hotel? Use marble.Need to build stairs to a church? Use marble.The church itself? Marble.Need to prop up a retaining wall? Find some reject marble.Building a foundation?A park bench?Putting in trees? Use marble.