Lago Trasimeno

If you've noticed something different about the blog, it's not a formatting or font change - it's that we've been taking pictures under a clear, blue, Mediterranean sky for the past few days. We are about to leave the shores of Lago Trasimeno, where we've stayed for two nights.

The lake is in Umbria, not far from the Tuscan border, and the food is influenced by both regions. There is more fish available here than we found in the hills of Tuscany, and a real emphasis on beans and legumes.
The waters of the lake are a deep green - warm, fertile runoff collects here, washed down from the mountains surrounding it. Surprisingly, it isn't very crowded and has escaped over-development. We walked by the water almost completely alone, and took a ferry with only one other person on it.
The town we are staying in, Castiglione Del Lago, has a magnificent, 12th century castle, a pretty view out over the lake and a bustling Wednesday market.
A picnic Rebecca and Maggi put together: greens, squares of tomato and onion bread and a thick slice of Porchetta that we agreed was among the best pork dishes we'd ever tasted. The skin was crisp and golden and the meat beneath was beautifully moist and herbaceous. We ate hastily, putting meat on top of bread with not much else. Our fingers got very greasy, but that wasn't too much of a problem.
There are a few islands in the lake; we visited the largest of them, Isola Magiore. A crew of people were slowly going about replacing the pilings at the dock, working with two cranes and a chainsaw.
Being the offseason, the island was mostly deserted, though a few people were still around. A small street runs down one side of the coast, and the houses crowd together in the lee of the wind. On top of the small hill, an 11th century church stood, closed up and silent. We saw dozens of rabbits in the underbrush and a few pheasant-like birds which I couldn't identify. This was a favorite haunt of Saint Francis of Assisi, according to legend, and it feels very much the same as it must have when he was alive.

We're setting off for Rome this morning, and are having a tough time leaving behind the quiet and relative solitude that we've found here. On the ferry back to shore yesterday, we sat without talking for most of the ride, enjoying the sun and the still waters.

Two Days in Tuscany

After a day and a half in whirlwind Venice, we picked up our car from the roof of the parking garage and headed down to Tuscany. My mother arrived just twenty-four hours earlier, so it seemed like a perfect day to get as much boring autostrada driving done as possible. She napped and we promised to wake her if things got more interesting.
We made it right about to the border of the Toscano region when we were ready to retire and spent the night in Pistoia, a not-oft visited city with some really striking striped architecture within their walled Medieval center. Surrounding the city were tree nursery after tree nursery after tree nursery. We must have approached from the correct angle, because I had read that Pistoia gets less attention because of its 'industrial surroundings." Maybe some people really hate the fog of oxygen a skyline of baby trees give off. Who knows.
The main square was filled with 20somethings having drinks and aperitivos (the free snacks that come with drinks). We mulled over doing the same and maybe ordering an antipasti platter or something, but the loud music and lack of chairs turned us down a quieter street, to an outdoor table where a man named Luigi served us pistachio lasagna, tagliatelle with trout sauce, local white wine and other goodies. It was nice to find out that 'crostini toscana' on New York menus is exactly the same thing as in Tuscany: an inch-thick layer of liver pate on a giant piece of toast.
The next morning, we began a drive I've been looking forward to since I started researching some sights for my mom's visit. The SS222 stretches from Florence to Siena, winding mostly through the Chianti region. There was breathtaking scenery in every direction and our weather couldn't have been better. Rolling hills were topped with terra cotta roofed estates and cypress trees stood guard over olive groves and vineyards. The best part was that it went through towns like Greve in Chianti (above), where we stopped to stretch our legs in the best way possible; a casual stroll around gathering picnic goods.
Like most of our meals in Italy so far, our picnic lunch was a stand up affair. We used a big flat rock as our table and stood around in a triangle, happily picking away at our feast. Marinated artichokes were compared with 'tuscan-style' artichokes - the latter were just the hearts, soaked in extra virgin olive oil and had the consistency of grape leaves - a ball of steamed turnip greens, eggplant in tomato sauce, olives, prosciutto, hard wild boar sausage, mustard and a crusty loaf of bread completed the meal. The spot was right between a woodsy nature trail and a vineyard, directly in the sun. We decided to save two pears and hard cheese for breakfast. After more driving and pull-off photo sessions for my mom - who, needless to say, refrained from napping - we parked the car and ourselves in Radda in Chianti for the night. The sun was still blazing and made my mom's Campari Orange and Merlin's Aperol Spritz look prettier. (They've become their signature drinks, while I stick with white wine). Radda in Chianti is perched up on a hill and consists of narrow little streets, some of which are covered stone walkways from the 1300s. As we waited for 'la pausa' to end and the reception at our inn to open, we explored nearby Volpaia, an 11th century fortified village. It was one of the most tastefully restored places I have ever been. With no one around except a few construction workers and the wine tasting room, two restaurants and gift shop all closed, it felt like this surreal little ghost town. Walking back to our car, a group of five Americans showed up, presumably for the 2pm tour.
It being the off-season, our innkeeper, Leonardo, upgraded us to our own cottage overlooking some of the most famous Chianti vineyards. He explained all the work we'd seen being done in the fields. Every twenty-five years, the vines are completely switched out - something, he explained, which was very very important. The rotund overseer gave us a big Buon Giorno when we drove in and out, as ten or twelve fitter men toiled away.
That night, we gave into a pizza craving all three of us have been feeling for days. It was a much easier decision when we noticed that the only place open in town was Pizza Pie. A supremely friendly man made me my very own "small" pizza to go alongside mom and Merlin's prosciutto e fungi pie. It was thin and fresh and accompanied by another local bottle of white wine and some nice, big salads. In other words, we made the right decision.
As we drove back to our cottage, we learned that the Tuscan moon is just as pretty and almost as bright as the sun.

Together We Can Build...

Merlin: On another wintery, snowy day, we stayed close to home because of sickness (mine) and compassion (Rebecca's). Home, right now, is the shore of lake Aluksne, a couple kilometers outside of town. There is nobody around - the guesthouse people show up once a day to microwave breakfast for us - and we were getting a little lonely and cabin-crazy.

Rebecca: To make matters worse (?) I had "Winter Wonderland" stuck in my head. This has been the case for days, actually. It's proved to be useful because 1) I finally realized that my original interpretation of the lyrics, in which the snowman is hitting on the person who built him (a story for another day), was incorrect and 2) Merlin was prompted to suggest the following: "Do you think if we actually build a snowman you'll stop singing about it?"
Merlin: To give you an idea of how isolated we are, distant ice-fisherman have become our best buddies. This is about as close to them as we've gotten, because we don't want to scare the fish and falling through ice scares me. Also, I'm not sure what I would say if I did walk up to one of them.
Rebecca: Merlin was a little skeptical that it could work. The snow was fluffy and cold, not ideal for manbuilding. When I went upstairs to get gloves and looked out the window, I could see he was making excellent progress.

Merlin: I was skeptical, and my back isn't all that thankful for the extended bending and rolling. The going was painfully slow, but it was a satisfying process. There were setbacks, of course, and I wasn't as happy then as I am now, but it was worth it. Also, Rebecca was much quicker with the torso and the facial accoutrements than I was with the base and head, probably because she believed.
Merlin: Rebecca's hat, cattail stubs for eyes, a piece of detritus for the mouth, a bit of dry grass for the mustache... he's almost too human!

Rebecca: The snow Merlin stuck on to keep the moustache in place definitely resembled a nose. Eerily unintentional. We named the "Parson Brown" we had built "Lang Brown" (wink wink nudge nudge New Schoolers).
Merlin: We are now inside, sipping Bonaparte Brandy, a delicious Latvian spirit, and wishing that Lang could come join us. I do have to keep reminding Rebecca, though, that snowpeople don't like "warming up."

Rebecca: I hope tomorrow morning, the fisherman is super jealous of our new friend. We think that some suspect smelt from the local store was responsible for Merlin's sickness. Maybe that was fisherman's secret gift to us - leading us to build Lang. Our friends are the best.

(Merlin: p.s. The smelt only affected me because we realized that it was mixed up with pork lard. It felt pretty normal for me, this being Latvia, but deterred Rebecca from eating it.)

A Latvian Relative?

As I was wandering around Riga, I noticed this sign. Beer & Chill? Oh, but it gets better.

For those of you who don't know, "Blakus" is remarkably close to my surname.

According to stars21.com, which is an awesome translation site, "blakus" means next. The full text of the add - translated into English - reads "Torans Merlin at central Market, beers and sophisticated meat dishes, the Moscow street 4"

(translated by itself, "blakus" means next, as in "nearby" or "next to.")

Boatwatching and Biking

Last night, we stayed at Lukas and Judy’s houseboat again. We were originally planning on going to Harlaam, but couldn’t find a hostel with room on just a day’s notice. Some beginning rowers and what looked like a sailing school whizzed by as we sat outside for a drink before dinner.


Lukas suggested we all bike to dinner. I have to say, Merlin and I were as giddy as can be at the prospect of joining all of the Amsterdamians (I’m sure that’s not a real word) on two wheels. I also have to say that I was more than a little freaked out about getting on a fiets (Dutch for “bicycle”) for the first time in years and navigating my way through the city. It was amazing and I wish we had pictures, but we were a little too busy keeping up with Lukas and Judy (who sat on the back of his bike, as I was riding hers and Merlin was using the third they owned) and trying not to hit or get hit by any other bicyclists, cars, pedestrians, motorcyclists or scooterers (again, probably not a real word).

Waking up on the Amsteldijk

Last night we stayed with our new/old friends Lukas and Judy on their houseboat. I got up early and went up on deck (being on a boat begets boating terms, I guess) to get some fresh air and look at the canal. It was amazingly quiet - it doesn't feel like the city at all.

That big white building on the right, in the picture above, is a rowing club. Last night, as it was getting dark, we watched groups of skullers and rowers (I don't really know if there's a difference, or what the difference is) sliding past. Some of the boats came quite close to us, and it was fun to listen to the oars.

These are some of the neighboring boats. One has to lease the docking space from the city, and Lukas said that that's the most difficult and expensive part of obtaining a houseboat; there are a limited number of spaces in the city, so people sell their docking leases for exorbitant amounts.

Some of the houseboats are really just houses - not boats - with foundations built into the canal, and no way of moving about. Lukas and Judy's has a motor, though, (that's just a little outboard in the picture, the actual engine is quite a bit bigger) and it's been on a few trips. The previous inhabitant took it to Belgium and all over the Holland canals.

Hi, Pop!

I saw this soup shop today and thought posting a pic of it would be the perfect way to offer a cyber shout-out to my father. Get Well Soon, Pop!