CRF: Italy

"CRF" is not a crime show you've never heard of, it stands for "Cutting Room Floor." Below are some of our favorite pics that never made the blog. We figured we'd reminisce a little while we're home for a visit. (Back in Europe December 28th).
We spent a month and a half on the Italian Peninsula, moving from Italy to Vatican City to San Marino. Not too shabby of a place to linger for a while. At the tale end of our Italian time, we spent two nights in Rome. This is the view out our window. We have about a hundred photos of this view - at dawn, midday, dusk and night. It was always just so stunning. If we stuck our heads out and turned to the right, we could make out a bit of the Coliseum.
Trevi fountain at night. Tourists crowded around, flashes bounced off the water, coins plopped in steadily. Legend has it that throwing a coin into Trevi fountain ensures a return to Rome. This young woman, who was shivering during a photo shoot, would probably choose a warmer month next time. The fountain is gorgeous at night and the sound of rushing water adds calm and a bit of magic to the crowded scene.
Some clever street art. We saw a few 'do not enter' signs altered like this. Further down the street, a two person team scrubbed away at less artistic graffiti.
We often reminisce about Trani. Our favorite meal in Italy was here, and it's easy to see why. Every morning brought a spectacular fish market and a few tables stayed open until dark. Bright pink rock shrimp, mussels that shone a midnight blue, silver sardines. The crates and buckets were like treasure chests, filled with glistening jewels. Man, we wished we could buy some of it and cook it up. But, we just had to settle for eating out. Shucks.
This is a view out over Lake Trasimeno from a dock tower in Castiglione del Lago. The boardwalk below was bare, an ice cream shop and tiki bar were shuttered. The blue sky turned the off-season beachfront scene from sullen to wistful.
This car sat on a street in Calcata, a totally picturesque artist commune. About one hundred people live in the village, which is perched up on a mound of volcanic rock. Since the houses are made of the same stone it looks like the cliff has sprouted buildings. For years, the town was deemed unlivable because of the threat of erosion. Artists began to squat there in the 60s and the structural quarantine, so to speak, was lifted a little while later.
So, so many tramezzini were consumed in Italy. The crustless white bread sandwiches (cut diagonally) were the perfect snack or go-to lunch. At bars, they were simple but inspired. Tuna with olive, prosciutto, egg with tomato, etc - always saran wrapped. In cafes and at gourmet shops, they were filled with anything from smoked salmon to mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes. This every day staple is quintessentially Italian to us. We didn't care as much for their Sammarinese double-decker cousins.
We did a lot of driving in Italy. It's always a difficult thing to grapple with, needing to get someplace quickly but not wanting to spend a whole day on the autostrada. Taking the scenic route was an easier decision in Tuscany, because a google search of "prettiest drives" is possible and the options are plentiful. The SS222 (which connect Florence and Siena) gets crowded in the high season. Narrow European roads don't work well with too many cars stopped for photos. But it was March, and we could move along at our own speed.
This picture was taken during our post-four hour lunch stroll in Vasto on the Adriatic Coast. It was just a short stay, but we can still remember the orange trees and the grandparents playing with their grandchildren on the sand. The paddle boats were turned over and covered with a sandy film. Knotted up fishing nets sat in clumps.
Trani at sunset. It's hard not to fall in love with a place when this happens daily.

Things Italian People Like

Pinocchio. Italians seem to really like Pinocchio. Maybe they don't like him as much as they are proud of their great contribution to children's literature. There are a lot of souvenir shops in this country and every one of them is filled with the wooden boy. We saw posters for a Pinocchio themed circus, a Pinocchio themed water park. I honestly saw more Pinocchios than Mona Lisas (though that may be because they're a little peeved that she lives in France).
Gelato. It's not just for tourists who are looking to fill up before Praying and Loving. It's served just about everywhere. What was most surprising to me was the fact that if someone offered gelato, they always offered at least eight flavors. One flavor that kept popping up was Zuppa Inglese (which my mom chose, in the center, above). It was basically gelato with pieces of 'zuppa inglese' in it (sponge cake which has sopped up liquor and been drizzled with cherry and chocolate). Looks: 5. Taste: 8.
Aperol Spritz. Italians like Aperol Spritzes so much that bartenders call it simply "a spritz." It's made with Aperol and either prosecco or white wine and always served with a slice of blood orange. Sometimes a splash of tonic water is added and/or a green olive - which tastes better than you would think. Aperol is like a sweeter, less alcoholic Campari. It sites rhubarb, bitter orange and gentian among its ingredients. For the record, this was the only spritz we ever saw in branded glassware.
Covering Pizza with Prosciutto. Any time we sat in a restaurant that also functioned as a pizzeria, we would see pie after pie come out of the oven and then proceed to have one long, thin sheet of prosciutto after another laid upon it. Vegetable pizza, mushroom pizza, cheese-less pizza, it didn't matter. I worried for the poor waiter who then had to distinguish which pie was which at the table.
The Piaggio Ape. The vehicle was created after WWII by the man who came up with the other most-liked-by-Italians-vehicle, the Vespa. We saw them in every part of Italy except for, thankfully, the autostrada. This isn't an excellent picture, but imagine it loaded up with hay or crates of tomatoes or a few pigs - then, imagine a large, burly man with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth filling the entire cab. Another ape variety we saw quite often had a covered back, like a vespa van as opposed to this vespa pick-up.
Driving Erratically. It's hard to get an adequate illustration of the Italian love of driving erratically, but if this is your average parking job, you can just imagine...
Autogrill. The final car/driving related thing, I promise. Autogrills line the autostrada in Italy and there's even one in the center of Rome, which has constant lines of motorcycles and vespas parked outside. We dined there once and in true Italian fashion, were given a slice of warmed bread and a packet of extra virgin olive oil with our better-than-average packaged salads. When I looked up Autogrill, I discovered that its not only the largest retail-catering company in the world's travel sector, but its majority shareholders are the Bennetons. What's funny about that is the fact that United Colors of Benneton stores have been everywhere. Literally every town has at least one if not three (men, women, maternity/children). What Gap is to the US, Benneton is to Italy. So, basically, Autogrill is like a Gap-owned Cracker Barrel (without the country store).

Honorable Mentions

Good food, good wine and sunglasses should go without saying.

La Pausa. This is the two to four hour break in the middle of the day, which seemed really lovely in theory, but was actually quite frustrating in practice. Nothing makes you feel more American than discovering your need to get errands done trump your admiration for the concept of the siesta.

Wishing Each Other A Good Day. No matter how busy an Italian is, they will always take the time to wish someone a good day as they arrive and as they depart. Two people will interrupt their conversation to simultaneously greet a new arrival. A person standing next to you at a counter, with whom you have made no contact whatsoever, will wish you a good day as you pay up. During our time in Tuscany and Umbria, every "bon giorno" came with a smile.

Emergency Pulls in the Shower. We're pretty sure that it is actually required by law in Italy to have an emergency button in a hotel shower. So, maybe this isn't so much something Italians like as it is something they do. Even still, if you're ever in a shower in Italy and see a string hanging from somewhere high up. Do. Not. Pull. It.

The Trani Port

We are here in Trani, a small, sleepy village on the shore of Puglia. The town's center is its port, which is pretty but small - this is not a deepwater harbor and the yachts are understated by Mediterranean standards. It's a pleasant place to walk around, with a few places to eat or get a glass of wine and a thriving - if not exactly lively - fishing scene.
Not always so demure, Trani was once the most important port on the Adriatic. During the 11th, 12th and 13th centuries, this region was among the most thriving on the peninsula, and the city maintained trading consuls as far away as England and Holland. Frederick II departed for the crusades from this harbor and the port was rivaled in Italy only by Venice.
Of course, things changed and the town has been somewhat forgotten. Today, its main industries (other than tourism) are centered inland, where a few large marble and olive oil companies are based. The port is quiet right now, and most of the boats moored at the piers are small pleasure craft. We've seen a couple being motored out past the breakwater, but the town feels very settled into its offseason slumber, and the owners of these boats are likely elsewhere. At night, when it's been breezy, the wind howls through the empty masts and makes a very empty, haunting sound.
There are, of course, locals who work on their nets and sell their catch from small crates. The fish (that we see) are generally small and well-picked through, but are plentiful and appear to arrive constantly on the piers.
There are more shuttered restaurants than open ones - but the places that are taking customers right now have terrific fish. We've eaten better than almost anywhere else, and the food has been fresher than what one can typically find in the middle of March. Cooks take great pride in showing off their ingredients - fish are almost always brought to the tableside live (or nearly live), to be inspected before meeting with the knife and olive oil. Men in kitchen clothes are omnipresent at the waterside, standing and talking with the fishermen.
The dock market seems to never end - there are people selling fish at eight in the morning and at eight in the evening. The hum of generators begins sometime around dusk, when electric lights are turned on and people come to the dock after work to pick out something for their frying pans.
I imagine that there's a different, more hectic scene here in August, when there are more people at the water to buy gelato than seafood. It's nice to be by the shore when it's quiet and not feel as though the town has completely gone into hibernation - there is a feeling of camaraderie and a winter energy. Last night, when a local couple caught us looking across the restaurant at their sardines, they told the waiter to bring us a plate of them. They were delicious, lightly fried and accompanied only by a wedge of lemon. The people in that place - the couple, the waiter, the chef - were really proud of their fish.

Watch Your Head

On our drive back to Trani from Castel del Monte, we spotted a stone archway in a field and pulled over to take a look. As we were getting back in the car, we noticed that on the other side of the same road was a group of these cone shaped stone structures.
The tiny dwellings, taller than me but shorter than Merlin, were in excellent condition and - unlike the archway we first discovered - were free from litter accumulation.
Inside was cool and moist feeling and the stonework was simply amazing.
Light came through the top, the point of the cone, and illuminated just how precisely and skillfully the thin smooth stones had been piled up. After a quick google of "cone shaped stone dwellings near Castel del Monte," I found out that the structures were trulli (conical stone dwellings specifically found in the Puglia region of Italy). Communities built them without any mortar or cement so that they could be dismantled if a taxation inspector was coming to their village. It was their way of dodging any fees for owning property.
I also found out that the specific field of them we'd stumbled upon is for sale. Apparently, buying trulli real estate is a new craze amongst English and German tourists. At least according to Wikipedia and Lonely Planet.

Trulli usually date back to around the 15th century, something that initially disappointed us. Due especially to their diminutive size, we assumed they were more ancient. It's amazing how much Italy will spoil you on something actually seeming old.

Castle Hunting: Castello dei Monte

Frederick II (who also built Trani Castle, among others) built a mysterious hilltop monument that can best be called a castle - but probably was never intended as a defensive structure or even a palatial residence. In fact, not much is known about the reason for its existence, other than its grand statement of beauty and power.
The castle was built during the 1230's in the form of an octagonal prism, with octagonal towers on each of the eight points. The design is somewhat unusual, and is thought to be a metaphorical translation of the relationship between square earth and circular sky. The structure was originally faced with marble (instead of the current sandstone), but it was stripped by vandals along with much of the interior. We weren't allowed to photograph the rooms inside, so we didn't linger and aren't able to show you what they look like.
The building is barely defensible, having no moat and only a small, poorly protected door as an entrance. It wasn't necessarily built as a palace, though, because there is no kitchen and few creature comforts inside. It is thought that king Frederick built it partly as a hunting lodge and partly as a religious and monarchial symbol. Not much is known about his purpose, though, or about the people who designed and built it for him.
It's location is impressive enough - the walls are visible for several miles in all directions, on top of the hill. The land rises up out of olive orchards and some rocky, sparsely-grassed pastures. We drove along roads bounded on each side by ancient stone walls and wound our way towards our goal on a bright, hot afternoon in March. It wasn't too disappointing that we weren't able to get better pictures because the experience was so strangely beautiful.

Castle Hunting: Castello di Trani

We came to Trani because we didn't find a place to stay in another town - it's beautiful here, and we found a terrific seaside castle just a short walk from the central port. It's a blocky, white thing that gleams in the sun and looks much newer than it really is. We took a little walk around it and went in for a minute - much of the interior is "under renovation," so we didn't get many pictures inside.
The castle was built between 1233 and 1249 by Frederick II (1194-1250), the Holy Roman Emperor and king of Sicily. One of the most powerful of the Medieval kings, Frederick was also - as "King of the Romans" - the ruler of Germany, Italy and Burgundy, though his claim on those lands was somewhat tenuous. In this part of the world his rule was absolute, and he had an enormous impact on the area's development. He built dozens of castles in southern Italy, becoming known as "stupor mundi," or "wonder of the world."
Trani was an important port in the early part of the last millennium, and Frederick expanded it as a major embarkation point during the crusades. Part of the expansion included building a defensive structure to guard against attack - the castle was much more impressive, though, than probably was necessary. It survived in its original shape until the sixteenth century, when it was renovated to house a cannon battery. Interestingly, part of this renovation included lowering the original towers. Apparently, the advent of gunpowder based warfare made high towers a danger to castle defenders. If the towers were damaged enough to fall, they posed a risk to the people inside. Also, it was more difficult to aim cannons from higher points, so lower walls became an advantage.
The original moat was connected with the sea by a series of locks that regulated its depth and allowed it to be drained at low tide or filled at high tide. It was an oddity when it was constructed, and no longer is part of the structure. A drawbridge originally connected the courtyard with the surrounding land, but it was replaced in the 19th century when the building was turned into a prison. The clock, also, was added, and the flooding system was done away with because it made it easier for prisoners to escape. These days, the rock beach below the walls isn't especially inviting, but it makes a beautiful tumbling, rain sound when the waves wash over it.
The contrasting white, geometric blocks and seawater create a strange kind of dichotomy between solidity and liquid that is especially striking in the extreme sunlight. Close to noon, it was difficult to rest the eyes on any of the surfaces.
There is really only one vantage point on land from which to view the castle - the rear walls are hemmed in very closely by buildings and an ugly, trash-filled gulch. There is a breakwater, though, that can be reached from the port. It offers a beautiful view of both the castle and the town cathedral, which was built just before the defenses. We stood in the wind and watched some people fish in the Adriatic.

Dramma Naturale

After the week of movie-still scenery, magazine photo meals and paperback interaction with locals while my mother was here visiting, we decided to drive ourselves outside of the Italian tourist comfort zone. As soon as we made that decision, heading over toward the regions of Abruzzo, Molise and Puglia, Mother Nature - and Italia itself - decided to kick things up a notch.
In Vasto, we took a walk down to get our first views of the Adriatic Sea, passing this ridiculously tall grass the entire way. It added to the eeriness created by the fact that the town was almost completely shuttered up. Our lunch was a bizarre four hour affair at a mostly empty restaurant. It was one of the best meals we've had on the entire trip, cooked by an Australian-born Italian man named Michael who schmoozed as much as he cooked, and we could do nothing but laugh when our sixth or seventh little course came and there was no end in sight. We were joined by a table of four construction workers who sipped sparkling rose as they gnawed on slabs of beef and a couple who fought and made up and fought and made up for around three of the four hours. Mamma Natura isn't the only dramatic Italian.
As we reached the Promontorio del Gargano - the little bump above Italy's heel on a map or, as we lovingly call it, the callus- a storm began to blow in. Perched up in the hilltop town of Vieste, it was particularly dramatic. The cobblestones became slick and the already bundled up residents, pulled their coats in tighter.
The waves could be heard crashing all around us, literally, and the cobalt blue sky was crisscrossed by slivers of blue clouds. Vieste was fairly empty, in its typical seaside off-season slumber, so there wasn't much din or tires on cobblestones to content with the natural soundtrack. It's quite a way down to the water, but it sounded much much closer.
We scaled the steep steps, which our elderly B&B hostess had done earlier in the day with astonishing ease, to get a view from the roof. The inn used to be a convent and standing up there, looking both up and down, it was easy to see why they chose the location. If you're going to give your worldly pleasures up to a 'higher power,' you might as well get a front row seat to some otherworldly views.
The next morning, the storm had passed, leaving our car covered in a salty film. We drove her down into the Foresta Umbra and then out and up onto one of the steepest, windiest, craziest roads either of us have ever experienced. It was hard to tell exactly where it was leading us, as every thirty feet or so there would be a complete switchback. The sights out, or more accurately down, were mind-boggling. At the very top, about 2500 feet above sea level, we drove through the town of Monte Sant'Angelo, which is apparently one of Europe's most important pilgrimage sites. This view is far from the most dramatic, but pulling off the road wasn't really an option.

Adriatic Trabocchi

Our first week in Italy seemed more whirlwind-vacation than we are used to - stops at guidebook highlights, major cities and well-known sights. Yesterday, we crossed the country and arrived in Abruzzo, which felt like decelerating. The Adriatic hasn't warmed up yet and the temperature topped out in the low fifties, so we found ourselves on an empty coastline.

One thing we noticed as we drove through this less-developed landscape: these fishing platforms - called "trabocchi" - jutting out over the water.
They are designed to lower nets into the rich currents that stream by the rocky shore. Because there were few native trees for the poles, they were built with old railway ties and bits of scrounged wood. They remind me of treehouses, built out over nothing.
Once, there were hundreds of trabocchi all along this coast. Commercial boats and industrialized fishing took their toll, though, and now there are only fifteen. Because it is prohibited to construct anything off shore, they will be the last. The owners, apparently, are only allowed to make repairs.

That Audrey Hepburn Movie

This was the view out of our apartment window on our Roman Holiday. There seem to be hundreds of this shot on our camera cards; dawn, dusk, morning, afternoon, night. If you stuck your head out from the balcony and looked to the right, you could see the Coliseum at the end of a long narrow street.

For about a week now, ever since my mother arrived in Venice and spotted her first Italian fountain, she's broken into the chorus of "Three Coins in the Fountain" every now and then. I felt bad about not getting the 1954 film reference, until I looked it up and found that it was about "three American girls looking for love in Rome" and starred nobody special. Being as we weren't going to scoot around on a Vespa, get our haircut or try our first cigarette like Ms. Hepburn in that far superior movie, we figured we might as well go down to Trevi Fountain and each throw a coin in. It was fairly mobbed with tourists, but still really beautiful. Barely anyone was talking in a collective attempt to listen to the water rush.

My mother's coin-wish must have come true, because the next day she fell in love. With this sandwich. Two hours after enjoying one at lunch, she already wished she had bought another for dinner. The selection at this cafe was pretty impressive, squash blossoms, sauteed spinach, shrimp, really colorful, inventive combinations filled the premade selections, piled up behind the counter. Mom's was eggplant, some breaded, some not, with mozzerella and prosciutto on olive bread. She asked them only to 'panini' it halfway, so that the eggplant would retain some of that refreshing, cold gushiness.

It's definitely not peak tourist season here right now and the vendors and photo-opp guys around the Coliseum mostly sat around reading the newspaper, looking up to shout out things like "You can pay with a kiss!" every now and then. I'm not sure if that's the most savvy business proposition, but most of the poor guys are dressed up like Ben Hur outfitted by Ricky's, so they've gotta brighten their day somehow. Snacks available for sale included roasted chestnuts and fresh coconut water. Next to the Berlusconi and Pope Benedict bobbleheads were lions and Santa Claus.

In an effort to see something by Michaelangelo before mom left Italy, we headed over to the Cordonata, a staircase he designed leading up to 'capital hill.' We walked up and down the empty staircase looking for the staircase. It couldn't possibly be it, we figured, because there weren't any tourists. On our way back home, a hoard of school children filled the stairs and we realized our mistake. We tried to get a picture with as few people in it as possible.

We decided to walk along and across the Tiber River to find the Porta Portese flea market. We figured, if we were going to contend with a crowd, it may as well be haggling old ladies instead of international undergrads. The walk was beautiful, but the market didn't appear to be running on the other side. Nonetheless, it was nice to see a more local side of things and a different sort of ruin before turning back to cross Monti toward home.

Another type of crowd altogether met us in the streets, the very beginning of a nationwide labor union strike. Apparently, it went on to cripple cities all through the country for at least twenty-four hours. Subway operators, government workers, airline attendants, basically everyone except for school employees took part in it. Luckily, it all appeared to settle before we delivered my sun-kissed and sandwich-full mother to the airport back home.

For the record, our Roman Holiday did include a photo shoot at the Bocca dela Verita. Something we only remembered after seeing a calendar featuring a movie still of Gregory Peck with his hand "bit off." We waltzed right in, waited for two people in front of us, then nerded it up like true tourists. As we walked out, a tour bus unloaded and a line formed around the block. Perfect timing.