On my way home

After 3 weeks, I am on my way home. Salzburg to Frankfurt to Munich to Montreal. If you look at a map, it is a ridiculous itinerary. If you look where I am sitting at the front of the plane, it is well worth it!

I have had an incredible time in Firenze, Cinque Terre, Cividale and Salzburg. I have dreamt of this trip for such a long time and it turned out to be even more wonderful than I could have imagined.

Not only did I learn more Italian, but I was completely overwhelmed by the beauty of Firenze and the Fiorentinos. The Istituto Michelangelo was a great place to learn the language and also to have a home base where there was always something going on and someone to talk to. Above all, I have met some of the most incredible people, with whom I spent countless hours wandering, eating, drinking and talking; fascinating people from all over the world who I can’t wait to see again. I also got to meet up with some dear friends whom I haven’t seen in way too long and see Cinque Terre with them. There was also a random encounter with an MBA friend who happened to be here too - and we discovered a great pizza place together. I got to spend time with my cousin who I haven’t seen in 14 years, see his dream house in Cividale and meet his wife. I also got to squeeze in a little time with my aunt in Salzburg, since I was in the neighborhood.

Thanks for coming along on my little trip – I hope you enjoyed it.

Baccio-

Ina 

Salzburg

The first thing we do in Salzburg is go to the chocolate factory where they have the not-quite-perfect Mozartkugeln, a Salzburg specialty - pistachio paste surrounded by marzipan and then coated in chocolate at a fraction of the price that the tourists buy them for. Then, into the Altstadt for a proper kaffeeklatsch – with poppy seed cake. For supper we go to my favorite restaurant ever – Friesacher. It started way back when as an inn where the local farmers brought their new wines for tasting and naturally someone had to cook to accompany the wine. There are lots of these types of inns all over Austria. Friesacher’s now has 3 few restaurants and a fancy hotel too. Tonight, we went to the Heurigen.  Confirming why it is my favorite restaurant.

The rest of my time in Salzburg involves more eating going for a few cursory runs to Scholss Hellbrunn and along the river at the crack of dawn. I’m quite surprised by how dark it still is here at 7am. The only lights I see along Hellbrunner Allee are those of the oncoming cyclists that are few and far between and judging by the smell, horses haven’t been here too long ago.

More kaffeeklatsches, lots of markets and lots of walking into the city and poking into the shops and being completely at home in this gorgeous city.

Cividale

Cividale was a wonderfully lazy antidote to the hustle and bustle of Firenze.  We went to a local inn on the first night with a friend of my cousins, Emanuele, or Minu, who is from the area and is helping build the stable.  There was a large group there for supper and we sat in the corner eating delicious food and sampling the Prosecco – we just happen to be in the region that makes Prosecco, so we had to be polite. The conversation was a crazy mix of German and Italian, with Minu correcting us as we went along. The food was delicious of course


and it’s possible we went through a few bottles of Prosecco.

There was also a musician who was playing very loudly and singing badly, on one of those keyboards that have whatever musical style you want as a backbeat.

The next day started with a quick trip into town to show me around, and following custom, we had a glass of Prosecco in the town square.

 The nice thing about these aperitivos is that they also come with a small snack – this time it was a slice of delicious ham on bread with grated horseradish on it. We went back home and walked the horses out to the new pasture and then came back and made homemade pumpkin gnocchi for lunch, with fresh pumpkin from the garden, of course.

A lazy lunch overlooking the river, playing with the dogs and not much else for the afternoon. Kaffeeklatsch was at the stables, so that Minu and my cousin could take a break, too.

 Then back out to bring the horses back to the stables, feed them and give them water. I’m not much of a horse person and didn’t think that I had anything to worry about, but as I was walking two of them back and they kept trying to squeeze me between them, I realized just how big and powerful they are. So I figured I should just keep talking to them and shoving them to their respective sides so as not to flatten me, making like I was the alpha horse. Hoping that horses worked the same way as dogs, in terms of hierarchy.

It was much the same thing on Monday – lazy morning and then off for Prosecco aperitivo in the hills surrounding the valley overlooking the vineyards. Am I ever going to crash hard when I get back home. I will definitely need a re-entry program.

That evening we went for supper in town with some more friends from Austria and Minu as well. Minu and I had a ball – he made me translate everything for him. With the help of il dizionario rosso –the pitcher of red wine – it went well. By the end of the evening we were like an old married couple, with him putting in the right endings to my nouns. I even think that he understood what I was translating, even though I’m not sure why we were even talking about Frank Stronach’s new political party in Austria. La nuov…a partit…a politic…a Austriac…o. The best pizza ever was followed by a lemon gelato with a shot of vodka in it.

Il dizzionario rosso

I love this country!

The next morning when we left before dawn, all the horses were out of their stables watching us drive off.

We drove through the Alps, literally –I think we were in tunnels for more than half the trip. We stopped at the Auto Grill for breakfast – pasta con cioccolata, spremuta and cappuccino. (Chocolate croissant, fresh pressed orange juice and cappuccino)  I would like to see the rest stops on the 401 beat that. Then after 3 hours we arrived in Salzburg,

I regret not having bought those gloves in Firenze, it’s only about 10 degrees here.

Il internetto

When I booked my apartment through the school, I asked if it had wifi. I was told that of course it would have it by the time I came in October. The week before I came, I asked again and they said that yes, it should be functional.

Of course when I got to apartment D at via dell’Oriullo 8, there was no internet. The next day at school, I went to see Lapo, who had the USB wifi keys. I went home at lunch and tried to install it. Of course it didn’t work. So I was given another USB key, and again it didn’t work. Lapo said it was probably because my Mac was too new.

So I resorted to doing my emails at home and then using the wifi at school to send and receive. After a couple of days of this, all the while still trying to get a functional USB key, the wifi at school slowed right down. I had to leave my laptop on Lapo’s desk while I was in class for 4 hours in order to send and receive. The USB keys that I kept trying turned out to not have the proper matching passwords, so they wouldn’t work either. That’s when I decided to go to the Firenze library and try my luck there. At least I could go late at night and not have to lug my laptop all over town. I got the requisite library card and finally had connectivity. I thought this solved my problem, until some days, their network wouldn’t let me join (but I have a library card!) or was so slow that I gave up. Finally, on the Wednesday, I decided to go to the Vodaphone store to get my own USB wifi card. I went at my lunch break, but it was closed until 2:30. So I went back after class at 5. I was told that they had just sold out that morning. I almost started crying.

The next morning I decided to go to the bigger Vodaphone store near the Duomo. After a very convoluted number taking system – I had number A151 and when my number was called, right after C024, someone else went up to the counter and got served. So I waited until the next client rep opened up explained to him that although my number had already been called, someone else was being served in my place. So he served me. So, what’s the point of the fancy electronic numbering system?

Anyway, he had a USB wifi card, with 10G download in 30 days. Perfect. I bought it and went home, installed all the necessary software and badaboom badabing I had connectivity in my apartment! I send and receive and upload until I am giddy.

The next morning when I try to connect, it won’t let me. I am completely deflated. Back to school with my laptop to churn away while I am in class.

I couldn’t do anything about it over the weekend because I went to Cinque Terre and it hadn’t self-corrected by the time I came back Sunday night. I couldn’t go on Monday either because my classes ended late and I was so fed up, I didn’t want to spend any more time on connectivity. Tuesday, I decided that I would march right back to the Vodaphone store by the Duomo and tell them what was happening and demand my money back.

Somehow, I get served with the proper number despite the numbering system. I decide to speak Italian so that they know just how serious I am. (In hindsight, it probably didn’t help anything…) I explain, they listen and correct my grammar, and then after a few phone calls and ridiculously fast conversations between the clerks so that I don’t understand, and I don’t, they tell me that my card wasn’t activated. Tutto e bene, it should be activated in 2 hours. Arrivederci and they send me on my way. There. I told them. I go to the Ponte Vecchio to celebrate.

L’ultimo giorno a Firenze

My last morning in Florence started with yet another gorgeous sunrise run. The sky was even prettier because I wasn’t out at the crack of dawn, but just after. Then came the daunting task of having to cram everything into my suitcase. I smartened up this time and travelled with a few extra bags – which isn’t so much of an issue for the airplane, but more for train travel, especially when you have to change trains. Inevitably the next train is down and then up another set of stairs. I managed to get everything into 2 bags – 2 huge, heavy, bursting at the seams bags, but only two nonetheless. I rolled my bags into Neighbor Guy’s apartment and we set off. First to Caffe Oibo on Piazza Santa Croce where I had my first caffe when I arrived, very fitting to bookend my caffes. We each had a pasta, too – which is a pastry. That’s one word I wont get used to. Pasta is for lunch, not breakfast and it’s even stranger when two pastas become paste. Although, now I will never forget the plural, I suppose. We wandered over to Oltr’arno, the neighborhood across the Arno, poked into some shops, gardens and courtyards. We found a cheese shop where I had my sandwich made for the train and we went on past the bathhouse and the Saturday mercato at Santo Spirito – 

the usual shoes and clothes, mixed in with all the vegetables and flowers for sale. 

Then back across the Arno 

and to the Piazza della Republicca where there was yet another mercato of sorts. Cheeses, olive oils, vinegars, alpaca wool items, breads, sausages and other cured meats from the regions around Florence. Just like at Costco, we sample whatever there was on offer.

Neighbor Guy spots some macrons 

that he absolutely has to have at Gilli – the place where we had the decadent yet ridiculously overpriced cioccolata calda con panna. He comes out with a bag of assorted flavors, takes one bite and declares them awful – so he gives them to me for my train ride. Then back to the apartment, passing the Duomo one last time just to indulge me and decide that there is no way I can pull my luggage to the Stazione.

As we come to our building, there is a girl trying to get into the main door but can’t find the right key. Neighbor Guy says , “Permesso” and opens up. At the top of the next flight of stairs by the door to our landing, she is trying again. Neighbor Guy opens up again. We go into Neighbor Guys apartment to get my stuff and she is still struggling to open the door to my old apartment. I offer to help, because I know that the key needs jiggling. Neighbor Guy is very unimpressed that my replacement can’t even get into the building.

Neighbor Guy carries my bag down the stairs and we wait for a taxi. Weekdays, they are everywhere, today, a Saturday, we wait an awful long time for one. Finally one pulls up and I hop in and we zig zag our way to the Stazione, “C’e un casino!” the driver says as he has to avoid people on the street and other cars at intersections. At the stazione I wait under the big “partenza” sign waiting for them to indicate which platform my train is leaving from.  I’m going to my cousins cottage in Udine. 5 minutes before the train leaves, it’s indicated, so off I go. I get into my seat. I have opted for first class. Not sure why, it wasn’t that much more expensive and it gave me a seat reservation. When the train person (are they stewards on a train too? Or just on airplanes?) helps me with my bag, I figure it was worth the price. It’s a high speed train between Florence and Venezia Mestre and we get there in no time. The platform in Venezia is level with the train so no lugging the bag, but I do have to change platforms. Right on cue, an Italian man grabs my bag and carries it down the stairs and then another one carries it up to the next platform. Hmmm, I could get used to this. 

The train from Venezia to Udine is not a fancy high speed train with first class seats. It is a rather run down, completely full, regional train that is stopping at a station every 10 minutes or so, without air conditioning. I find a seat in a small booth and wedge my giant bag next to me so that people can get by. Oh, this isn’t going well. And it’s hot, and there isn’t any air conditioning. The people I’m sitting with start chatting with me and so it kills some time. Slowly the train starts emptying more after each stop until my car is almost empty. I pull my bag over into the booth and stare out the window. At the next stop, a gaggle of schoolgirls gets on and I have to pull my bag out into the aisle again so that two of them can sit in my little booth. I doze off but keep waking up whenever my bag rolls away from me, which is often since the train is stopping all the time. Finally the girls get off and I wedge the bag back in. Suddenly, I realize that I have absolutely no idea where I am. I haven’t even looked at a map of where I am going. All I know is that I am somewhere away from Venice and hopefully somewhere north east of it, as I seem to recall that’s where my cousin’s place is. My car is empty except for me and I can’t read the signs in the stations as we pull up because the stations are so small and there is only one sign and I always miss it. Hopefully Udine is sizable and I won’t miss it. Hopefully I am heading towards Udine. I really have no idea. We pull into a larger train station and I spot the Udine sign so I hop off. Just as I am about to go down the stairs, in swoops Italian Guy to take my bag down the stairs for me and then up at the exit. So far today, I have not had to carry my bag up nor down any of the 5 sets of stairs. I really like this place.

My cousin pulls up and we drive to Cividale. There, I am greeted by his wife, two dogs, a cat and five horses, one of whom is munching on the grass in front of the house. The complete opposite of the frenzy of Florence, I am speechless.