The Neapolitans are back. They've recaptured the city.
I had almost forgotten what real Neapolitan driving was like. We'd had the roads to ourselves for the past month, but it wasn't going to last forever: yesterday on the way to pick Alan up from work, I encountered a traffic jam so serious there was--gasp!--a cop to direct us. In one day, I went from running free as a graceful gazelle in the desert to baahing with the million other goats in the herd.
Why get agitated about this traffic in particular, you ask? Well, the base is literally next door to the airport. There was only one possible explanation for this sudden, grand reopening of the Bumper Cars at Naples Amusement Park. The Neapolitans must have chosen this day to fly back en masse from their exotic, month-long beach vacations.
As I exited base with hubby in tow, I explained why I had been a little late. A big sigh accompagnied his response: "just when I was starting to like Italy..."
To be fair, we do like Italy. We reminded ourselves that lawless driving is a thing of the south. And as I've said ad nauseam, we are more than happy to put up with Naples' more unpleasant aspects for a couple of years. For now, the good really does outweigh the bad.
But when I run into someone in the side streets of our neighborhood, and I throw myself out there with a smile and a buongiorno, and that person just walks past with a hmph! ... well, that's when I have trouble liking Italy.
You have to understand: that hmph is pretty common around here. I was lucky enough to get that this morning, as many times I get nothing but a big, long stare. Alternatively, I'll get the buongiorno back, but with a hurried haughtiness in place of a smile (you see, I was doubly blessed this morning).
I guess I need to step back and realize this is not the birthplace of southern hospitality. I probably take those Italians by surprise when I dare to say "hi" in the street! Yes--sometimes, when I come across a very polite or kindhearted person, I am gratified. But those reciprocated greetings say it all: the polite/kindhearted buongiorno-sayers often act like they just stumbled across a misplaced object. The smile they flash me is one of grateful serendipity.
Like I said, though, the good outweighs the bad. Yesterday there was the wave of returning travelers; today, like clockwork, there was the year's first crisp fall air. I'm looking forward to saying "arrivederci!" to mosquito bites and beads of sweat rolling down my back. And I'd be totally content if they didn't say it back.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Revisiting Naples
Today I was a tourist in "my own" city. With Naples at our fingertips and many tomorrows and next weekends left, getting to know the area is a work in progress. But little by little, I am putting the pieces together and discovering how whimsically romantic Italy can be when you're not jet-lagged or crunched for time.
A couple of friends and I had set out this morning with one goal in mind: to see the much-talked about Christo Velato. This sculpture, done by Giuseppe Sanmartino in 1753, is a triumph of marble work: a serene Christ, just taken down from his cross, lies wrapped in an almost-sheer lace-tipped cloth. The draping of the marble, which flows just as delicately as cloth, somehow reveals more about the lifeless body than do many crucifixes. The veil shields us from nothing but Christ's nudity: the holes are still prominent in his pierced feet, as are his bones and thin layers of muscle. The sculpture tells the story of a long period of suffering--lest we forget, the crown of thorns sits at the feet of Jesus--finally brought to an end by a very tangible last breath.
The Cappella Sansevero, which houses this sculpture and a few others, did not disappoint. Like most holy places in Italy, no spot was left unadorned, from the frescoed ceiling to the polychrome marbled altar. But the real draw was Sanmartino's opus at the center of the room:
It is hard to believe that such resounding quiet can be found just two steps away from where, seconds ago, you scrambled to avoid the honking motorcyclist barreling towards you.
It is hard to believe that such opulence exists just meters away from a grimy via lined with street vendors and laundry fluttering on the clotheslines.
Because so many of the city's big, important buildings are found along via Croce, Spaccanapoli--so-called because, translated literally, it "splits Naples"--attracts many tourists. I don't come here often because I don't do the tourist thing often, and it's a little far from the quieter area where we live.
A couple of friends and I had set out this morning with one goal in mind: to see the much-talked about Christo Velato. This sculpture, done by Giuseppe Sanmartino in 1753, is a triumph of marble work: a serene Christ, just taken down from his cross, lies wrapped in an almost-sheer lace-tipped cloth. The draping of the marble, which flows just as delicately as cloth, somehow reveals more about the lifeless body than do many crucifixes. The veil shields us from nothing but Christ's nudity: the holes are still prominent in his pierced feet, as are his bones and thin layers of muscle. The sculpture tells the story of a long period of suffering--lest we forget, the crown of thorns sits at the feet of Jesus--finally brought to an end by a very tangible last breath.
The Cappella Sansevero, which houses this sculpture and a few others, did not disappoint. Like most holy places in Italy, no spot was left unadorned, from the frescoed ceiling to the polychrome marbled altar. But the real draw was Sanmartino's opus at the center of the room:
As if this were not enough to inspire wonder and awe, I quickly identified Mozart's Ave Verum Corpus playing in the background. I have always found this piece hauntingly beautiful, but it holds a particularly dear place in my heart as it was sung at both my wedding and that of my parents.
The Museo Cappella Sansevero is tucked away in a side street just off the bustling Via Benedetto Croce. The contrasts on this stretch of road, which is actually the historical heart of Naples, are many, and...well, very Neapolitan. The area is literally overflowing with churches, whose answer to the cramped, noisy streets outside is a vast interior of peaceful grandeur. On our way to see the veiled Christ, we decided to stop in two of these churches: the typically Baroque Gesù Nuovo, and the more austere Santa Chiara.
It is hard to believe that such resounding quiet can be found just two steps away from where, seconds ago, you scrambled to avoid the honking motorcyclist barreling towards you.
It is hard to believe that such opulence exists just meters away from a grimy via lined with street vendors and laundry fluttering on the clotheslines.
Because so many of the city's big, important buildings are found along via Croce, Spaccanapoli--so-called because, translated literally, it "splits Naples"--attracts many tourists. I don't come here often because I don't do the tourist thing often, and it's a little far from the quieter area where we live.
But I should have known that, about 4 years ago as a tourist and nothing else, I would have ventured here. Naples was not entirely new to me when Alan and I arrived last fall. Back when I was based near Paris, I had taken a short trip there with my cousin. Funnily enough, we did not really come to see Naples but Pompeii...and from our brief stay we concluded that this dirty, loud, violent city was not for us.
So it was with a chuckle of nostalgia, and a bit of irony, that I stumbled upon the giant, grey-with-soot walls which house the Gesù Nuovo. When I entered the church, I thought to myself, I've been here (the scaffolding you see in the picture was there last time; thankfully, it's gone now). And when we peered into Santa Chiara, I told my friends, "yup...definitely been here."
To think that, for months, I have held my head low when confessing to others that I had not yet found the chance to visit Naples' most important churches!
It conjures funny emotions, revisiting places you saw when you were younger. You see things in a totally different light. As a recent college grad visiting Naples for a whirlwind two days, I had trouble finding the beauty in this place. Now that I am older and wiser--or so I like to think--and I now call Naples home, I can place it within a larger context: gorgeous views from the hills, layers of history, some of the best soul food on the planet, a people with gruff exteriors but tender hearts...
So in my haste to see and experience new things, I should remember my 23-year-old self, which would swear to come back every time she left a new place. I'm glad I kept this promise.
And I'm glad I'm making more promises with every new place I discover. Before returning home, I finally made the very slight pilgrimage to Virgil's tomb (it's a fifteen-minute journey from our place, and yes, I know I should hang my head for not going before).
This is where lovers of the poet come from all over the world to pay homage. They drop little messages scribbled on bits of notebook paper, old receipts--whatever they can find--into the cauldron-like thing you see on the right.
The park itself is a lovely corner of green space just next to the train tracks of Mergellina station. As you climb the steps to the tomb, you see little inscriptions next to the flora: trees and plants are labeled, and, where appropriate, it is noted how many times Virgil alluded to them in his works. From the top, you can catch a bit of the bay of Naples, along with the city view. And, if you're lucky (like we were today), you'll hear an old man playing his mandolin on an isolated bench.
What a wonderful little nook to revisit my Latin and build on my Italian! I'll definitely be back.
Mantua me genuit, Calabri rapuere, tenet nunc Parthenope. Cecini pascua, rura, duces.
"Mantua bore me, the Calabrians snatched me away, now Naples holds me. I sang of pastures, countrysides, leaders."
Monday, August 16, 2010
Estate: Buzzwords of Summer 2010
Can you believe how fast the summer has gone by?
And I have joined the ranks of old ladies fanning themselves at the bus stop:
Finally, this song has nothing to do with Italy, but for me, its lazy pace conjures up images of a bronzed old man taking a siesta under the shade of his straw hat:
Here's to making the most of these last few weeks...bathing suit, I'm not quite done with you yet!
After our Tunisia trip--which, weeks later, I still intend to wrap up in the blog--we didn't have any big plans for the summer. We thought we would just chill out here and avoid the tourists everywhere else. We dared to think fall was a long way off.
But somehow, even the lethargic days of summer must pass...and paradoxically, they seem to go faster than the rest of the year. I wonder how much longer we'll be hearing that sexy voice on the radio whisper "estate" (summer--doesn't it sound so much better in Italian?).
We've enjoyed our share of little sunny adventures, and for once in my life, I can honestly say I'm ready for autumn's cool breezes and busier schedules. But after a few months ending in -ber, when I find myself tugging at an itchy wool turtleneck, I may recant. This is what I will reminisce about as I await our second Italian estate.
- Heat: I can no longer enjoy one of my favorite summer pasttimes--"defrosting" in a steaming-hot car after turning almost blue in an arctic grocery store.
I'm sorry if I sound like a broken record on this subject, but a Mediterranean summer without air conditioning is tough, even for the fleece-donning likes of me. (I am not complaining--we have too much to be thankful for--just describing). For a while in July, we'd step out of the shower almost as sweaty as when we had stepped in. Which leads me to...
- More heat: Unfortunately for us, our fridge chose exactly this time to go kaput on us. We ended up mourning the loss of many frozen vegetables, dairy products, and meats. Not to be outdone, we enjoyed a brief jaunt into vegetarianism as we awaited a replacement fridge. For a week or two our pantry was the go-to meal source, supplemented only by a few fresh fruits and vegetables. Every day looked like this: oatmeal for breakfast, warm pasta salad for lunch, and beans and rice for dinner. We felt lighter (if a bit anemic), and our wallets felt heavier. It wasn't exactly fun, but it taught us a lesson in reasonable grocery shopping.
- Fans: The next best thing to A/C!
We have invested in a few of these for the apartment:
And I have joined the ranks of old ladies fanning themselves at the bus stop:
- Relief: The fans help a little, but I'm referring more to the afterglow of a summer thunderstorm. After a much-needed downpour, we finally feel a little of the breeze everyone assumes we have, in light of our proximity to the water. And then...
 |
| Un arcobaleno! |
- Bug bites: Buzzword, indeed! Nature's A/C (ie, open doors and windows) - screens + lights on in the evening + sweet-smelling blood = dinnertime for mosquitoes.
 |
| Eau d'Insect Repellant: Sticky, not entirely subtle, with hints of orange blossom |
- Grilling & Picnicking: Cooking in the kitchen gets hot. Why not pass off the duty to the burger chef...
...or avoid heat altogether?
A few slices of the knife, a generous shake of olive oil and balsamic vinegar (it's delightfully sweet here), and you've got yourself a tasty Insalata Caprese. Toss in a little basil and not only is it aromatic, but it's also a nod to the tri-color Italian flag!
- Ferragosto: The Italians, like the French, are a very rested people. I found some statistics online via the World Tourism Organization: on average, Italians receive 42 paid vacation days per year. (This does not include frequent coffee breaks and daily riposo!) Compare this number to the 13 days the average American gets in a year.
Anyway, Ferragosto technically refers to August 15th, the day Catholics celebrate the Assumption of Mary into heaven. (For the record, the church next door was nearly empty yesterday, save for a few little old ladies...fanning themselves, of course!) Everything shuts down on this day--and if the 15th falls on a weekend, things shut down the following Monday, too. I was at the store on Saturday to pick up a few things, and it felt like the evening before a "big" snowfall in the Southeast: everyone was getting their provisions before it was too late.
Actually, things shut down for much of, or even the entire month of August. That's right: this is the favorite vacation time of Italians, so don't expect to get anything done right now. The other day, some friends were discussing public transportation closures and described a sign they had seen recently: "Closed for Renovation during the Month of August." Hah! You'd think they could have come up with a better lie... Speaking of public transportation, I can't believe I forgot to mention strikes (scioperi), which are very popular during non-holiday times...especially Fridays!
While I'm on the theme of vacation, I should add that Italians like to fare il ponte, or "make the bridge"--ie, if a national holiday falls on a Tuesday or a Thursday, they go ahead and take the Monday/Friday as well. Coincidentally, there exist literal translations in Spanish (hacer puente) and French (faire le pont). Why does it sound so stilted in English? I'm thinking it's not purely a linguistic thing.
For an American, seeing shop hours reduced even more can be a little annoying. But having the road to ourselves more than makes up for it!
- Grandi Successi: For many of us, music is an instant trigger of emotions, especially nostalgia. As part of their prize giveaways, one of the local radio stations has been playing summer hits of decades past. I love hearing an old favorite: the memories of summer camp, swim team, and beach trips come flooding in. Here are two Italian hits that I have come to identify with summer 2010:
(I realize not everyone has the same passion for foreign music as I do, so I'm going to skip including the lyrics. For those that are interested, though, I recommend googling them; the lyrics from both songs are really lovely).
Finally, this song has nothing to do with Italy, but for me, its lazy pace conjures up images of a bronzed old man taking a siesta under the shade of his straw hat:
Here's to making the most of these last few weeks...bathing suit, I'm not quite done with you yet!
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Lessons in Italian Cooking & "Moonshine"
A lot of people ask me what I do with all my free time. Cooking is a biggie--and a lot of fellow expat wives would agree. Eating out can get prohibitively expensive and, with the dearth of ethnic restaurants, it can lead to pizza- and pasta-overdose. (Of course, the Italian diet is much more varied than just pizza and pasta, but these are nevertheless pretty big staples.) Not to mention the fact that we eat dinner up to 4 hours before Italian stomachs start grumbling: in the summertime, most everything is closed until 8:30 pm.
So I have (happily!) accepted a fate that involves aprons and spatulas. Of course, it helps that I have a strong interest in cooking. (Hubby's numerous enthusiastic requests for seconds/thirds are also big confidence-boosters!) But, as with anything you do regularly, it is easy to fall into a rut.
Fortunately, there is a lot to inspire us here: the fresh produce we find in neighborhood markets, the clean flavors we taste in restaurants, the fresh-baked bread we smell just steps from our apartment building...
A few weeks ago I was with friends at the well-known and very Neapolitan Trattoria da Nennella. I will expound in future posts, but for now, suffice it to say that I took one bite of their Pasta Pomodoro (simple tomato pasta) and thought to myself, "why can't I do this??"
It's true: since we've been in Italy, pasta has been become an old friend of ours, in restaurants as much as in the kitchen. We have expanded our horizons beyond the classic Bolognese and love a good vegetable sauce. But nothing I make comes close to what I found in my plate at Nennella's.
I asked my Neapolitan friend Alessandra if she could replicate it. Without missing a beat, the answer was an emphatic, "of course!" She promised to teach me the technique soon, which prompted Alan to take a break from noodle-twirling and give his hearty blessing.
I've since confirmed my hunch that, for all its simplicity, Italian food is all about relying on the freshest ingredients and the right techniques. A steaming plate of this always satisfies:
(That was Alan's portion, by the way. This could explain why I buy so much food...)
Pasta con Sugo di Pomodorini (Steamed Grape Tomatoes with Pasta)
1. Fill a large stock pot with water, and add sea salt liberally (at least a tablespoon). The water should taste pleasantly salty. Cover and bring to a rolling boil.
2. In a large frying pan (make sure it has a cover), heat a good dose (enough to cover the bottom by a couple centimeters: at least a quarter cup) of high-quality olive oil.
3. Drop in 4 or 5 unpeeled cloves of garlic, stirring occasionally to avoid burning.
4. Drop in about a half kilo of fragrant cherry or grape tomatoes, which have been rinsed and stemmed. Reduce to medium heat and cover to steam, stirring only occasionally to avoid burning. Cooking will be quick (about 10 minutes).
5. As the skin on the tomatoes starts wrinkling, gently poke them to release their juices. Cooking is just about finished when all tomatoes have popped. Remove and throw out garlic cloves.
6. Toss in a good handful of fresh basil leaves and simmer for a little bit.
7. Once the water is boiling (and not a second before), drop in your pasta (about 3/4 package for this amount of sauce). We tried linguini and vermicelli, and both were great. Stir with a long-handled meat fork to avoid sticking. Cook according to taste; if you want an al dente "bite" to your pasta, I recommend cooking under the amount of time directed on the package. Taste frequently to avoid overcooking.
8. Once the pasta is cooked, drain the pasta and add it to the tomato sauce. Mix the two together with some tongs and serve immediately, garnishing with a few leaves of fresh basil. If desired, sprinkle with freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano. The dish marries perfectly with an earthy red wine--we had a Lacryma Christi (from the Vesuvius region) and it is our new favorite.
A wonderful cook and teacher, ready to dig in:
Another Italian staple I have learned to make is limoncello, the ubiquitous after-dinner drink. As I find most liqueurs taste of strong cough syrup, I am not a huge fan. But, from what I hear, the beauty of limoncello is that you can easily make it to suit your own tastes.
I joined an ICR (intercultural relations) class on base to learn the process, but it is so simple I could have saved myself the trip...though I always enjoy the company of other housewives.
The bulk of the work comes in peeling a bunch (about ten) of fresh, organic, medium-sized lemons. The best lemons for this are a teeny bit underripe, but not green, and have unblemished skin.
Here I am with the other ladies, hard at work with our peelers. The easiest way to peel is from bottom to top; take care not to take any of the bitter white pith--your peels should be very thin and fragrant.
You'll need a two-liter glass jar (preferably with a large lid; I had old wine bottles which worked fine but will pose some problems for step 2). You'll put all your lemon peels and 1 liter of grain alcohol (readily found in Italian stores, but I'm not sure what to look for back home) into this large jar. Close tightly with the lid, and store your baby limoncello in a dark place.
For 15-20 days, you sit back and let your concoction work its magic, gently shaking the jar every so often. At the end of this period, strain the lemon peel from the alcohol and add simple syrup. (Heat 1 liter of water together with 600 grams of sugar. Once the sugar has dissolved, let the syrup cool before combining it with the alcohol.)
Mix your limoncello well and let it rest for another 15 days. Keep it in the freezer to make it extra-refreshing on a hot day. The rest is up to your taste buds!
Hopefully, this is just the beginning of my cooking apprenticeship. A few days ago, I actually had a couple of friends over who were interested in learning how to make ratatouille. We had so much fun that we decided to make it a regular thing! We'll rotate houses and cooking styles (my friends are well versed in Asian dishes, especially Filipino ones). I wonder how you say Buon Appetito in Tagalog?
So I have (happily!) accepted a fate that involves aprons and spatulas. Of course, it helps that I have a strong interest in cooking. (Hubby's numerous enthusiastic requests for seconds/thirds are also big confidence-boosters!) But, as with anything you do regularly, it is easy to fall into a rut.
Fortunately, there is a lot to inspire us here: the fresh produce we find in neighborhood markets, the clean flavors we taste in restaurants, the fresh-baked bread we smell just steps from our apartment building...
A few weeks ago I was with friends at the well-known and very Neapolitan Trattoria da Nennella. I will expound in future posts, but for now, suffice it to say that I took one bite of their Pasta Pomodoro (simple tomato pasta) and thought to myself, "why can't I do this??"
It's true: since we've been in Italy, pasta has been become an old friend of ours, in restaurants as much as in the kitchen. We have expanded our horizons beyond the classic Bolognese and love a good vegetable sauce. But nothing I make comes close to what I found in my plate at Nennella's.
I asked my Neapolitan friend Alessandra if she could replicate it. Without missing a beat, the answer was an emphatic, "of course!" She promised to teach me the technique soon, which prompted Alan to take a break from noodle-twirling and give his hearty blessing.
I've since confirmed my hunch that, for all its simplicity, Italian food is all about relying on the freshest ingredients and the right techniques. A steaming plate of this always satisfies:
(That was Alan's portion, by the way. This could explain why I buy so much food...)
Pasta con Sugo di Pomodorini (Steamed Grape Tomatoes with Pasta)
1. Fill a large stock pot with water, and add sea salt liberally (at least a tablespoon). The water should taste pleasantly salty. Cover and bring to a rolling boil.
2. In a large frying pan (make sure it has a cover), heat a good dose (enough to cover the bottom by a couple centimeters: at least a quarter cup) of high-quality olive oil.
3. Drop in 4 or 5 unpeeled cloves of garlic, stirring occasionally to avoid burning.
4. Drop in about a half kilo of fragrant cherry or grape tomatoes, which have been rinsed and stemmed. Reduce to medium heat and cover to steam, stirring only occasionally to avoid burning. Cooking will be quick (about 10 minutes).
5. As the skin on the tomatoes starts wrinkling, gently poke them to release their juices. Cooking is just about finished when all tomatoes have popped. Remove and throw out garlic cloves.
6. Toss in a good handful of fresh basil leaves and simmer for a little bit.
7. Once the water is boiling (and not a second before), drop in your pasta (about 3/4 package for this amount of sauce). We tried linguini and vermicelli, and both were great. Stir with a long-handled meat fork to avoid sticking. Cook according to taste; if you want an al dente "bite" to your pasta, I recommend cooking under the amount of time directed on the package. Taste frequently to avoid overcooking.
8. Once the pasta is cooked, drain the pasta and add it to the tomato sauce. Mix the two together with some tongs and serve immediately, garnishing with a few leaves of fresh basil. If desired, sprinkle with freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano. The dish marries perfectly with an earthy red wine--we had a Lacryma Christi (from the Vesuvius region) and it is our new favorite.
A wonderful cook and teacher, ready to dig in:
Another Italian staple I have learned to make is limoncello, the ubiquitous after-dinner drink. As I find most liqueurs taste of strong cough syrup, I am not a huge fan. But, from what I hear, the beauty of limoncello is that you can easily make it to suit your own tastes.
I joined an ICR (intercultural relations) class on base to learn the process, but it is so simple I could have saved myself the trip...though I always enjoy the company of other housewives.
The bulk of the work comes in peeling a bunch (about ten) of fresh, organic, medium-sized lemons. The best lemons for this are a teeny bit underripe, but not green, and have unblemished skin.
Here I am with the other ladies, hard at work with our peelers. The easiest way to peel is from bottom to top; take care not to take any of the bitter white pith--your peels should be very thin and fragrant.
You'll need a two-liter glass jar (preferably with a large lid; I had old wine bottles which worked fine but will pose some problems for step 2). You'll put all your lemon peels and 1 liter of grain alcohol (readily found in Italian stores, but I'm not sure what to look for back home) into this large jar. Close tightly with the lid, and store your baby limoncello in a dark place.
For 15-20 days, you sit back and let your concoction work its magic, gently shaking the jar every so often. At the end of this period, strain the lemon peel from the alcohol and add simple syrup. (Heat 1 liter of water together with 600 grams of sugar. Once the sugar has dissolved, let the syrup cool before combining it with the alcohol.)
Mix your limoncello well and let it rest for another 15 days. Keep it in the freezer to make it extra-refreshing on a hot day. The rest is up to your taste buds!
Hopefully, this is just the beginning of my cooking apprenticeship. A few days ago, I actually had a couple of friends over who were interested in learning how to make ratatouille. We had so much fun that we decided to make it a regular thing! We'll rotate houses and cooking styles (my friends are well versed in Asian dishes, especially Filipino ones). I wonder how you say Buon Appetito in Tagalog?
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Straight out of a Movie
One of the cool things about living here is getting to see firsthand things we've previously seen only in books or movies. Last Saturday, during a boating excursion to the island of Ischia, we took advantage of one such opportunity!
A few days before, we had enjoyed Il Postino, our first non- man-movie in quite a while. And, as promised in my previous post, there were both tears and subtitles. The saddest part was finding out that the charming lead actor, who had put off heart surgery for the sake of his work, died the day after filming was completed.
I was immediately taken with the film's Southern Italian seascapes and rough Neapolitan accents--these are things that have become so familiar. Add to those romance and poetry, and we had ourselves a winner: I ranked it among my top ten favorite movies; Alan gave it an impressive 4/5 stars...which, by the way, is more than he gave Commando! (In all seriousness, there's absolutely no comparison). It's the story of a simple postman who delivers oodles of admiring letters to exiled Chilean poet Pablo Neruda. (Neruda's work had already swept me off my feet years ago in Spanish class at UNC). An unlikely friendship ensues as the inquisitive postino learns lessons on love and figurative speech from his wildly popular and talented mentor.
I would recommend this movie to anyone and everyone: hopeless romantics, fans of poetry, nature-lovers, anyone in the mood for a beautiful story. Do yourself a favor and rent it ASAP...you'll never feel so high on life as when you watch Mario stammer his admiration for the barkeeper's daughter. Except maybe if you come to Italy and check out the scenery yourself!
As we enjoyed mimosas aboard our rented motorboat last Saturday--"this is the life" was uttered several times--we were pleasantly surprised when our friend pointed out one of the Il Postino beaches. Part of the movie was filmed on these Procida shores:
The girls enjoyed lounging and sunning as the boys took turns driving the boat. We made a few pit stops on the way to cool off with a quick dip and to "use the facilities." (My family, who is well acquainted with my unwillingness to swim in the ocean--it stems from countless jellyfish attacks during my youth--would thank my small bladder for helping me shed some of my phobia!) Our last stop before lunch was an adventure in hot springs: Ischia is famous for its volcanic soil and thermal activity, which purportedly have medicinal properties.
I wish someone had warned me of the risks associated with this place! Once we neared the shore it became clear the way to the thermal pools was paved with craggy rocks. Unfortunately, the jagged edges were interspersed with smooth, algae-covered stones. Between being tossed by the current and slipping on slick seaweed, we crashed into our share of sharp rocks. Cuts and bruises abounded...
The small hot spring was crowded with muddy-faced Italians, but the temperature was quite pleasant. None of us really wanted to face the same obstacle course back to the boat, but we had no choice...or did we? I was the only one brave enough to try an alternate route: backtrack even further to the shore, then dive into deeper, rockless waters. I almost suffered a serious burn on the stones between the spring and the shore, and when I finally got back into the water I collided with a boatful of teenagers. (They made no effort to steer away as I bopped my head on their litte raft, but found it in their heart to warn me: "Attenzione!" How sweet...).
By this time we were ready to forget our bleeding and our stinging, so we headed to a seaside restaurant nearby.
"Parking" and shuttle service:
A very casual, waterfront, tiki hut of a restaurant:
Trio of antipasti: fried anchovies, cold seafood salad, bruschetta (note the peach wine in the background!)
Afterwards we filled up on our perennial favorite, pasta con vongole (clams). A few of us took advantage of the nearby lounge chairs and mattresses to partake in riposo. One last afternoon dip in the water, and it was off to return the boat!
Despite the cuts and bruises and oddly shaped sunburns we suffered, it was a spectacular day on the water. This was definitely one of those days that lived up to the romantic stereotype of Italy!
I have so many other adventures to record here, but before I do, enjoy the dreamy simplicity of Pablo Neruda's verses:
Your Laughter / Tu risa
Take bread away from me, if you wish, / Quítame el pan, si quieres,
take air away, but / quítame el aire, pero
do not take from me your laughter. / no me quites tu risa.
Do not take away the rose, / No me quites la rosa,
the lance flower that you pluck, / la lanza que desgranas,
the water that suddenly / el agua que de pronto
bursts forth in joy, / estalla en tu alegría,
the sudden wave / la repentina ola
of silver born in you. / de plata que te nace.
My struggle is harsh and I come back / Mi lucha es dura y vuelvo
with eyes tired / con los ojos cansados
at times from having seen / a veces de haber visto
the unchanging earth, / la tierra que no cambia,
but when your laughter enters / pero al entrar tu risa
it rises to the sky seeking me / sube al cielo buscándome
and it opens for me all / y abre para mí todas
the doors of life. / las puertas de la vida.
My love, in the darkest / Amor mío, en la hora
hour your laughter / más oscura desgrana
opens, and if suddenly / tu risa, y si de pronto
you see my blood staining / ves que mi sangre mancha
the stones of the street, / las piedras de la calle,
laugh, because your laughter / ríe, por que tu risa
will be for my hands / será para mis manos
like a fresh sword. / como una espada fresca.
Next to the sea in the autumn, / Junto al mar en otoño,
your laughter must raise / tu risa debe alzar
its foamy cascade, / su cascada de espuma,
and in the spring, love, / y en primavera, amor,
I want your laughter like / quiero tu risa como
the flower I was waiting for, / la flor que yo esperaba,
the blue flower, the rose / la flor azul, la rosa
of my echoing country. / de mi patria sonora.
Laugh at the night, / Ríete de la noche,
at the day, at the moon, / del día, de la luna,
laugh at the twisted / ríete de las calles
streets of the island, / torcidas de la isla,
laugh at this clumsy / ríete de este torpe
boy who loves you, / muchacho que te quiere,
but when I open / pero cuando yo abro
my eyes and close them, / los ojos y los cierro,
when my steps go, / cuando mis pasos van,
when my steps return, / cuando vuelven mis pasos,
deny me bread, air, / niégame el pan, el aire,
light, spring, / la luz, la primavera,
but never your laughter / pero tu risa nunca
for I would die. / por que me moriría.
-Pablo Neruda
A few days before, we had enjoyed Il Postino, our first non- man-movie in quite a while. And, as promised in my previous post, there were both tears and subtitles. The saddest part was finding out that the charming lead actor, who had put off heart surgery for the sake of his work, died the day after filming was completed.
I was immediately taken with the film's Southern Italian seascapes and rough Neapolitan accents--these are things that have become so familiar. Add to those romance and poetry, and we had ourselves a winner: I ranked it among my top ten favorite movies; Alan gave it an impressive 4/5 stars...which, by the way, is more than he gave Commando! (In all seriousness, there's absolutely no comparison). It's the story of a simple postman who delivers oodles of admiring letters to exiled Chilean poet Pablo Neruda. (Neruda's work had already swept me off my feet years ago in Spanish class at UNC). An unlikely friendship ensues as the inquisitive postino learns lessons on love and figurative speech from his wildly popular and talented mentor.
I would recommend this movie to anyone and everyone: hopeless romantics, fans of poetry, nature-lovers, anyone in the mood for a beautiful story. Do yourself a favor and rent it ASAP...you'll never feel so high on life as when you watch Mario stammer his admiration for the barkeeper's daughter. Except maybe if you come to Italy and check out the scenery yourself!
As we enjoyed mimosas aboard our rented motorboat last Saturday--"this is the life" was uttered several times--we were pleasantly surprised when our friend pointed out one of the Il Postino beaches. Part of the movie was filmed on these Procida shores:
The girls enjoyed lounging and sunning as the boys took turns driving the boat. We made a few pit stops on the way to cool off with a quick dip and to "use the facilities." (My family, who is well acquainted with my unwillingness to swim in the ocean--it stems from countless jellyfish attacks during my youth--would thank my small bladder for helping me shed some of my phobia!) Our last stop before lunch was an adventure in hot springs: Ischia is famous for its volcanic soil and thermal activity, which purportedly have medicinal properties.
I wish someone had warned me of the risks associated with this place! Once we neared the shore it became clear the way to the thermal pools was paved with craggy rocks. Unfortunately, the jagged edges were interspersed with smooth, algae-covered stones. Between being tossed by the current and slipping on slick seaweed, we crashed into our share of sharp rocks. Cuts and bruises abounded...
The small hot spring was crowded with muddy-faced Italians, but the temperature was quite pleasant. None of us really wanted to face the same obstacle course back to the boat, but we had no choice...or did we? I was the only one brave enough to try an alternate route: backtrack even further to the shore, then dive into deeper, rockless waters. I almost suffered a serious burn on the stones between the spring and the shore, and when I finally got back into the water I collided with a boatful of teenagers. (They made no effort to steer away as I bopped my head on their litte raft, but found it in their heart to warn me: "Attenzione!" How sweet...).
By this time we were ready to forget our bleeding and our stinging, so we headed to a seaside restaurant nearby.
"Parking" and shuttle service:
A very casual, waterfront, tiki hut of a restaurant:
Trio of antipasti: fried anchovies, cold seafood salad, bruschetta (note the peach wine in the background!)
Afterwards we filled up on our perennial favorite, pasta con vongole (clams). A few of us took advantage of the nearby lounge chairs and mattresses to partake in riposo. One last afternoon dip in the water, and it was off to return the boat!
Despite the cuts and bruises and oddly shaped sunburns we suffered, it was a spectacular day on the water. This was definitely one of those days that lived up to the romantic stereotype of Italy!
I have so many other adventures to record here, but before I do, enjoy the dreamy simplicity of Pablo Neruda's verses:
Your Laughter / Tu risa
Take bread away from me, if you wish, / Quítame el pan, si quieres,
take air away, but / quítame el aire, pero
do not take from me your laughter. / no me quites tu risa.
Do not take away the rose, / No me quites la rosa,
the lance flower that you pluck, / la lanza que desgranas,
the water that suddenly / el agua que de pronto
bursts forth in joy, / estalla en tu alegría,
the sudden wave / la repentina ola
of silver born in you. / de plata que te nace.
My struggle is harsh and I come back / Mi lucha es dura y vuelvo
with eyes tired / con los ojos cansados
at times from having seen / a veces de haber visto
the unchanging earth, / la tierra que no cambia,
but when your laughter enters / pero al entrar tu risa
it rises to the sky seeking me / sube al cielo buscándome
and it opens for me all / y abre para mí todas
the doors of life. / las puertas de la vida.
My love, in the darkest / Amor mío, en la hora
hour your laughter / más oscura desgrana
opens, and if suddenly / tu risa, y si de pronto
you see my blood staining / ves que mi sangre mancha
the stones of the street, / las piedras de la calle,
laugh, because your laughter / ríe, por que tu risa
will be for my hands / será para mis manos
like a fresh sword. / como una espada fresca.
Next to the sea in the autumn, / Junto al mar en otoño,
your laughter must raise / tu risa debe alzar
its foamy cascade, / su cascada de espuma,
and in the spring, love, / y en primavera, amor,
I want your laughter like / quiero tu risa como
the flower I was waiting for, / la flor que yo esperaba,
the blue flower, the rose / la flor azul, la rosa
of my echoing country. / de mi patria sonora.
Laugh at the night, / Ríete de la noche,
at the day, at the moon, / del día, de la luna,
laugh at the twisted / ríete de las calles
streets of the island, / torcidas de la isla,
laugh at this clumsy / ríete de este torpe
boy who loves you, / muchacho que te quiere,
but when I open / pero cuando yo abro
my eyes and close them, / los ojos y los cierro,
when my steps go, / cuando mis pasos van,
when my steps return, / cuando vuelven mis pasos,
deny me bread, air, / niégame el pan, el aire,
light, spring, / la luz, la primavera,
but never your laughter / pero tu risa nunca
for I would die. / por que me moriría.
-Pablo Neruda
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