TUESDAY: photo taken from RAVELLO (which itself is perched high on the cliff), looking south 

In RAVELLO, you can still find more Italians than vacationing non-Italians 

insalata caprese: what has become a lunch favorite 

chocolate, lemon and apricot, on a piazza, in the afternoon. Perfection. 

Com’e il tempo? (How IS the weather?)

Saturday

So warm, so sunny and today – so bright that I can see the distant Alps from the northern side of the Venetian islands.

Sadly, the Italian train that I am now on is not blogworthy. I was looking forward to a late departure, a broken ventilation system, the rambunctious discussions amongst fellow passengers – all common experiences from the past, but instead, our world has become so homogenized that even the Italian trains are running punctually and the lovely voice of the conductor tells us all to please keep our voices down to a subdued level. And the odd thing is that everyone is complying with the request.

In Florence, the “one way street” (all going the wrong way) capital of the world, I picked up the car that would serve as transport to and within Umbria. I’m not even going to list all the things that went wrong with that small portion of the day. But then, it’s all in the past, because indeed, I am writing this from Umbria.

Therefore (doubters of private Internet deals, relax!) there is a Bruno, and there is an Umbria, and there is a farmhouse, and there is even a farm of sorts since Bruno – an older guy with a ponytail – cultivates certified organic sunflowers. And, judging from the proliferation of plums on the premises – fruit trees as well.

I am onto my next internet challenge. How can a farmhouse accommodate a computer?

Answer: it cannot. There isn’t a phone jack, to say nothing of some fancy Ethernet or wi-fi connection. And the nearest town, Todi, is a winding-up-and-around-on-unpaved surfaces 15 minute drive away. For today, I am stumped. Tomorrow is another blogger day.

(p.s. I begged someone off the street --literally--to let me use a phone line!)

what else... organic sunflowers 

Sunday

I’ve been asked what the thrill is of going to a farmhouse, given that I live in such close proximity to the countryside back in Madison. To me, “renting a farmhouse in Umbria” is really a code name for an experience that I think tops most, if not all vacations. What are the essentials?

The farmhouse has to be relatively old, though comfortably modern inside (I am looking for visual appeal here, but I’m getting too used to an easy existence to call “roughing it” a vacation);

It has to be in a stunning setting – certainly hilly, with views, fields of crops of the type that postcards depict (sunflowers, vineyards, etc);

I t absolutely has to be close to a town or village where one can find at least one great but simple eatery where locals congregate to feast on regional cuisine;

That same town has to have a bit of history to tantalize the eye and the mind.

Todi represents all the above and it does so perfectly. Not many outside of Italy (including me until last year) have ever heard of this place. It is a perfectly preserved medieval hill town (the recent attention to “faithful preservation” is in part thanks to the fact that Todi is less than two hours from Rome and many rich artsy types use it as a summer and week-end retreat). It is stunningly beautiful, perched high above the surrounding fields of sunflowers and forests of old oak.

Enough touristy descriptions. I wanted to say that this morning, Todi delivered something equally important: breakfast.

for one person?? 

Per l’Amore di Dio! (Venetian classics and oddities)

I'm looking back at the last 24 hours and ticking off the themes that are permanently linked, in my mind, to Venice.

What’s a Venetian classic? From last night, I can recall a bellini (prosecco + white peach coulis) before dinner.

a bellini with Italian olives at the side.. 

And what struck me as a peculiarity? for the love of God, taking your dog to church! True, occasionally there’ll be a sign posted, in the form of a puppy with a red slash through it. But I have seen dogs trottin’ down toward the altar (with owners, of course). These are not my churches nor religions, but doesn’t that just seem wrong?

Another classic, from this morning – sunrise over the lagoon. I got up again to see this. The back yard of the “professor’s house” (that is where we’re staying) stretches all the way to the lagoon and so it did not take me long to drag myself to the water’s edge. I was rewarded with this:

a Venetian sunrise over the lagoon

Peculiarities? I wonder why this person had use for so many cooking forms (they were drying on the window sill this morning)?

must've been quite a party...

This morning I was sniffing out certain well-known art collections. Take note of the two horses out front, belonging to Peggy Guggenheim’s vast estate. Bold, beautiful, ready to leap into the Grand Canal.

What’s odd is that I have become crotchety. A young girl straddled one of them and would not get off. Okay, so they are a piece of art and the mother was standing by listlessly. But did it warrant my audible “thank you!” when the attendant asked her to get down?

Or, how about when I saw an older man using a camcorder in a church, even though the sign clearly indicated this was not permitted. Why did I walk by and mutter a “tut tut”? Next thing you know, I’ll be poking little tykes with a stick if they’re in my way and kicking dogs that are annoying.

Peggy's garden horses 

Blueberry ice-cream with whipped cream at Nico’s, overlooking the Gudecca Canal – wonderful. But, am I scarfing down all these? Is that normal? (Answer: they were not all mine, I promise!)

a mid-afternoon pick-me-up 

Nobody will deny that musicians can always pick up extra cash in Europe by playing on street corners. But what if you find yourself in Venice and you haven’t the musical competence to play anything well enough? You might try dancing, with a hat strategically placed for a donation.

tango your way to cash 

These are an interesting addition to the souvenir stalls this year. When you see one in my office, you’ll know where it came from (actually they were made in Hungary; that's close enough).

they add color and playfulness to alleys, passages and campi 

On the last night in Venice, tradition has it that one should go to St. Mark’s, spend money on that last drink and listen to the music from the competing cafés. But in the last couple of years, at least some of the cafés have not been able to attract customers. Why? Because Venice is sinking and in portions of the greatest square on earth you are likely to see not so much people swaying to the music, but this:

In places, the water at night is ankle-deep 

That’s too sad for a last post from here (tomorrow I leave for Umbria). I should end my Venice notes with a classic from today: a lonely gondola on the Grand Canal at sunset.

Is he singing as he punts into the sunset? 

Avanti popolo! (Head forth into the second day in Venice)

Venice in the afternoon is not the Venice of early morning or dusk. Thus, to me, it was worth rising at dawn to see the gentle colors, reflected, of course, in the still waters of the canals (and the empty spaces: you could not catch St. Mark’s looking this deserted otherwise).

it's not a painting 

morning wash 

at dawn, there is hardly a soul... 

You have to love the Italians for being so deliberately helpful or unhelpful, depending on their inclination. No one, absolutely no one at the hotel believed me when I said yesterday that the room had no electrical outlets. One by one, they came up to inspect and shake their head in amazement. Of course, you can’t rewire the place because I want to recharge my camera, but the theatrics of the parade were hilarious.

But I also remember last night’s dinner, where the owner kept pausing to chat because it was a slow night. He talked about how important it was for his grandfather to locate the restaurant close to the fish market way back when and how the menu has remained true to these nautical roots. Since I was incapable of deciding what to order, he came forth with a special plate of favorite selections, all arranged on a bed of arugula and raddichio.

a simple setting for delicious food 

Early today I scooted over to the market – no forager obligations! How nice…

ready for stuffing 

veggies of the Veneto 

Or, consider this morning. On a small side street of this neighborhood, a sculptor has set up a workshop. Out of fragments of 2000 year old stone found on Venetian islands, he chisels faces, true to images painted on ancient clay pots.

It was indeed love at first sight – with the man and his art. And, I loved the fact that he began his passion at the age of fifty (I’m only one year behind schedule in finding my own creative passion; no, the blog does not count; yes, I did start it when I was fifty; come on, I can do better than a blog!) – before, he had worked in monument restoration.

Yes, against great protest from within, I purchased something that weighs a ton but is so beautiful that I could not resist it. [Again, please do NOT tell me if you don’t find it so exceptionally striking.]

okay, the photo doesn't do it justice 

Today’s walk was through a neighborhood that used to be a favorite. Now it’s somewhat gentrified – you can tell by the appearance of expensive locks on the perfectly painted doors. Still it has the beautiful colors of Venetian houses and it is also home to a favorite, fantastic, phenomenal pizza place – worth returning to as many times as is humanly possible.

the best one has mushrooms and artichoke 

I need add nothing more here.. 

Finally, I wanted to note the ubiquitous Venetian lawn sign of the year. What, no lawns? Will windows do?

so many windows are displaying this banner!