chiamo martello. daniel martello.

ciao regazzi,

i know, i know, you've been anxiously awaiting word from martello. well, maybe not so anxiously. maybe not at all, given the throroughly amusing musings of trofie wife, but it's about time the lesser half weighs in. all 70 kg. trofie wife has warned me against writing of my job, for fear of legal complications, so i will keep to the personal and philosophical rather than professional.

from my end, it's been quite an interesting experience, hurdling from the intense pace--academic, social and professional--of grad school in philly to married life in an italian village. shutters are drawn for three midday hours and then again in the evening, when the coffee and studio buzz only used to start brewing. trofie wife's transition from tirelessly helping the unfortunate to wide-eyed-helping herself to gelato (her fave flava: nocciola) has been equally stark. i wonder if there is an association between gelato tastes and personality types. is robyn hazlenutty? am i gianduia-y (choco/hazlenut mix)? was the large, unshaven guy in line the other day fiordilatte-y (lit. milk blossom)? feel free to post your comments.

anyways, we are comfortably settled in a charming apartment owned by an eccentric old lady i met on the bus, who has a profound habit of socially accosting anybody who will lend an ear. especially kind foreigners. especially those who take the same bus daily. she means well. she even stopped by the other day to give us a spare 2009 church calendar. happy santa catalina d'alessandria day everybody! doubtless you've already taken trofie wife's virtual tour of our abode.

trofie wife's blogging has been thoroughly detailed, but some additional thoughts, on venice:
who would've thought, the same town known for its fanciful canals, romantic gondolas, ornate palazzos and piazzas, was also the originator of the ghetto? the 'geto', or foundry, was an industrial area to which venice's jewish population was constricted by gates from dusk til dawn (during the day they were allowed out with color-coded identifying accessories, and to practice certain approved trades such as money-lending but sadly neither architecture nor i would guess non-profit management), from 1516 until napoleon's liberation in 1797. fortunately, we were there in 2008 (pics in trofie wife's blog).

our rapid-fire jaunt through the architecture biennale was quite interesting. highlights included a sleek, digitally-fabricated reinterpretation of a house, clearly more remarkable for its sculpted form (think whimsical design meets fiberglass racecar shell) than its sheltering qualities. also an interesting video installation takes the viewer seamlessly around the world via gondola to see both real and mock venetian canals while listening to an unseen gondolier's narrative on urbanism, tourism, culture clash and commerce. trofie wife got a bit lost gardening in a drag-and-drop interactive landscape of sculpted steel pipes, while i feasted on a radial city plan of rome presented in a pizza box with rivers of pesto amidst a tomato grid and cheesy edifices. at a second site we literally ran (iguacu falls style, for any southstreettosouthamerica blog readers) through a couple of the national pavilions, which was quite a shame, but we fortunately did catch the belgian pavilion, festive despite its austere warning signs (photos below).

from the belgian sorpresa to the milano centrale soppressa:

soppressa does not mean surprise, though it might as well. it means suspended. arriving in milano (not just a delectable pepperidge farm treat), we stood in the vast train shed (you could fit several 30th street, penn and union stations in there) looking up at the solari departure board (the wonderful, mechanical flip-flap schedule boards invented by the solari bros. of italy), amidst a crowd of would-be travellers. one column was filled with many 'treno soppresso' signs. this was not the expected 'ritardo' (late) or train type (IC for intercity, ES for eurostar, TGV for hi-speed, Reg. for regionale, etc.). our train was actually not listed at all, we thought perhaps a glitch of the flipping and flapping of the board, and we remained hopeful. instead this turned out to be our first major encounter with the maxim 'at least under mussolini the trains ran on time'. turns out there was a train strike, and we were out of the loop. transit strikes are regular enough that we now know to consult the online strike schedule before any trips. fortunately we were able to get on a 6am train back to genova after a quick stayover in milan.

back here in arenzano, stormy weather reappeared yesterday after a two-week strike of its own, with a night of violently shaking window shutters, and then actual hail and snow in the mini ecosystem around my cliffside office. this picture is from the last round of storms, depicting the seasonal after-work happy hour joint/lunchtime ice cream spot just below the office. the stairs, railings, and roof were whisked away into the angry mediterranean two weeks ago. also note the tenuous electrical wiring, encased and mounted along the embankment, was also pulled into the Bay of Genoa. this sparked rolling office blackouts--fortunately the computers are on generators, so we drafted in the dark a bit (sounds like a bruce springsteen song...)

on the agenda: to go to a bar and order 'un martini. scrollata, non mescolata'

ciao for now,
baci e gelato,
martello e trofie wife

Venice Part A (Trofie Wife Perspective)

Martello has pledged to share his reflections of our whirlwind trip to Venice, but since his time is limited (and mine, abundant), I figured that I would give you all a little taste of our visit to this lovely city due east.

Now, the most amazing aspect of the entire trip (which occurred nearly two weekends ago) is that Martello and Trofie Wife managed to make the 7:15 a.m. train to Milano. As most readers are fully aware, early rising is not our thing, but with the Architectural Biennale calling, and the threat of weekend overtime the following week hovering over us, we made it happen. Upon arrival in Milano (upon slow, rickety, regional rail), we transferred to a faster moving Intercity train that pulled into Venice’s St. Lucia station around 2 p.m. After purchasing Venice’s equivalent of an unlimited Metrocard, we attempted to find our hotel in the Cannaregio sestiere, so that we could deposit our bags before making our way to the exhibit. We walked up and down the street, trying to find the house number that hotels.com had given us (we had had a lot of trouble booking a hotel at midnight, seven hours prior to our departure, but managed, at the last minute, to find a cheap, clean-looking one). It wasn’t a good sign when a nearby shop vendor did not recognize the name of our hotel. Yet, recalling another image from the Web site, Trofie Wife suggested that they return to the hotel situated next to where their hotel was supposed to be in order to seek clues. Low and behold, pinned to the wall above the adjacent alleyway (no wider than 2 ½ feet), Martello and Trofie Wife spotted a wrinkled sign with a hand-drawn arrow, indicating that the hotel was down the alley, just past the pile of canine excrement. (Note: at least five times during the course of the trip Trofie Wife asked Martello (who had commandeered the camera) to take a picture of this sign and alley. (Interjects Martello: “You definitely asked me fewer than five times.”) Martello kept postponing the shot, and evidently, we left Venice without the picture. So you’ll just have to conjure up a sketchy alley in your imagination.)

After making our way to the “penthouse” of this tiny hotel, we walked in the direction of the Arsenale (over in the Castello sestiere), where a portion of the Biennale exhibit was being housed. We stopped for an excellent caffè along the way and passed a bunch of great stores to which we hoped to return. Though pressed for time, we had to pause and marvel at the grandeur of St. Mark’s Basilica and the Piazza Ducale, which we knew we would not be able to tour that weekend but vowed to return to before the hordes of summer tourists descended. We explored the Bienniale until they kicked us out of the bookshop well past the 6 p.m. close. Martello will likely discuss the exhibits in greater technical and aesthetic detail, but Trofie Wife will merely add that there were a great many clever, socially-conscious pieces that caught her attention such that she was not dying of boredom. After close, we failed while attempting to locate a hot chocolate place that specialized in a non-lactose version, but after having another Venetian hot chocolate later in the evening, realized that it wasn’t too great a loss.

One big downside to Venice is that it’s very Anglophone friendly, which means if you’re already struggling with Italian and resisting speaking it, you can pretty much get away with not uttering a word of it during your journey. Despite our best efforts, we ended up at a very touristy restaurant in the San Stefano area where we at least found some decent grilled fish. Our waiter insisted on English, and we were seated next to two other American couples (Boston and North Carolina). Though the overall English exposure set back Trofie Wife’s Italian at least a week, it was nice to eavesdrop on the couples’ cross conversation and hear voices from home discussing the election outcome, economic crisis, and their own Italian adventures (one couple was on their way to Tuscany to harvest and press olive oil on their friend’s land!).

After dinner, we found some excellent, cheap gelato, window shopped while dodging knock-off handbag dealers (Chinatown, 42^nd Street, Venice….they’re everywhere!), and magically made it through a long boat ride on Venice’s public transit system without Trofie Wife’s dinner making a reappearance! We returned to our “penthouse” (which was actually a really good, clean deal) to enjoy an American-regulation sized shower, which did have abundant hot water for a spell, though Martello used more than his fair share! Trofie Wife continued binging on English while watching a BBC special on the Obama victory, followed by the weather forecast (British accents are just lovely, no matter what they’re saying!)

For the second day in a row, Martello and Trofie Wife managed to heed the call of the alarm clock and shuttle to breakfast and the train station (for return tickets) prior to trying to maximize their morning and early afternoon. We headed to the Jewish ghetto, which was actually the first of its kind in Europe. The tour was very interesting. We were able to see the interiors of three of the five Venetian shuls: two Ashkenazi (one was German, the other French; they couldn’t get along in one building, so the French moved next door! Oy!) and the Spanish Sephardic. Supposedly for security purposes, we couldn’t view the two synagogues that were in operation, the Levantine Sephardic and the Italian (we’ll have to get to an Italian synagogue at some point, though, and see just what they do that gives them claim to their own style!).

We had fun purchasing books in the museum gift shop and adding to our collection of mezuzot at the Judaica shop (we’re really being optimistic that we will return to an apartment in the States that has more than one door!). Most exciting for Martello was his acquisition of a kosher salami sandwich! Upon leaving the ghetto, we first headed to the Rizzoli candy shop for some nougat, then to the Dorsoduro sestire to do a little glass bead shopping. We probably lingered a bit too long, but left with some beautiful items.

Our foolhardiness regarding time continued as we commenced a long boat ride back to the Bienniale site. Sadly for Martello, we picked the wrong portion to see first (the Arsenale, which we toured on Saturday, was actually the smaller gallery), so we had only 30 minutes to view the bulk of this major exhibit. Drill sergeant Trofie Wife managed to get Martello and the camera out of the galleries just a few minutes behind schedule (after not one, but two gift shop stops for books that could have been purchased in one fell swoop had Martello been paying attention) but, alas, we fell victim to another long boat ride (interestingly enough, on the #1, Red Line boat, which, by its name, color coding, and speed (or lack thereof) bore an eerie resemblance to New York’s 1 train) and subsequently missed our train home. We managed to hop on another train back to Milano, but then the fun began. I promised to let Martello tell this portion of the story—even if it means that it will arrive in time to be a stocking stuffer or the content of the dreidel pot. But just know that this tale involves labor unrest, “delightful” detours, and popcorn made with MSG.

In closing, Trofie Wife would like to take a moment to give a big shout out to Venice’s public toilet system. Now, some people might complain about having to pay 1 euro to use the bathroom. But Trofie Wife says, if such a fee guarantees a clean, available (no lines, at least in November) place to go when you really need to, then fantastic. Each place has attendants on hand to show you where the sinks are and help you figure out which button to push to exit. Furthermore, by having paid for your stall, there’s little guilt involved should you need to rent it for a wee bit longer. Trofie Wife hopes that by the time she and Martello return to New York, the long-promised pay toilets will finally be installed around the city, so she will not be forced to walk nearly 20 blocks from Rockefeller Center to Lord & Taylor for a bathroom at the height of the holiday shopping season.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife