Well, That’s Potentially Courageous

In what is being promoted as a show of solidarity with Afghan women, Italy is considering temporarily pulling out its female service members from Afghanistan in order to lodge a protest against the Shi'ite Personal Status Law (see http://in.reuters.com/article/domesticNews/idINL463527820090404?pageNumber=1&virtualBrandChannel=0). Trofie Wife is not sure that it would make a huge practical difference, but it might be a good move symbolically, particularly if some of the displaced troops held particularly key positions such that their absence would truly affect the civilian situation on the ground (through some well-orchestrated inconveniences) without endangering lives. However, perhaps by leaving women in their crucial field positions (and forcing misogynists to take note), the Italians (and all other members of the Coalition of the Willing, or whatever we're calling it now) will visibly drive home the importance of equal personhood.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Perhaps They Should Try Craig’s List?

How’s this for a diplomatic disaster in the making? In its infinite wisdom, Italy is hosting the G-8 on remote islands far from the mainland in an attempt to block protests and avoid violence and property destruction (see http://www.reuters.com/article/GCA-PresidentPostcards/idUSTRE5304RZ20090401). However, it looks like the powers that be didn’t quite think through every aspect of their ingenius plan. Apparently, the conference organizers are still working to secure cruise ships that can be used to house visiting diplomats. The response has not been great thus far. Maybe they should try Craig’s List? I really hope American delegates (or any others, for that matter) are not forced to bed down on paddle pal boards in the middle of the Mediterranean.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Divide and Conquer

For their next adventures, Martello and Trofie Wife split up, each laying claim to a different swath of Switzerland for the weekend, with Martello skiing with his officemates on the French side and Trofie Wife visiting her family in Zurich (the German side). Martello had a great time skiing, particularly enjoying the freedom of not having to wait for me at every turn.

While it was nice to see her family, Trofie Wife definitely had been sold a false bill of goods (prior to getting on a train) regarding her niece and nephew’s ability to sleep through the night (they, in fact, don’t know how or have a very loose definition of "night"). As per usual, my child tolerance level capped out after about ten minutes (apparently, I was even zipping through bedtime stories too quickly; sorry, I wanted to read my own fascinating book). I did have some additional patience for the swapping of dirty looks with the tiny one (she senses my derision for her kind, and I sense that she already has the sarcastic wit of an adult, likely gifted by her father), who is continually confused by my physical resemblance to her mother and lack of a similar level of affection/ability to feed her.

About 12 hours into my stay, my overtired (due to the non-sleeping children in her care) sister managed to drop her house keys down the elevator shaft en route to the park, so our Saturday afternoon excursion (originally meant to be time at the lake) turned into an adventure to get the spare key from my brother-in-law (whose office, thankfully, is situated near the main Sprungli chocolate store). The rest of the day included naps (always a plus), a trip to the park (where I had to negotiate, with a persistent munchkin, regarding the number of sticks that would be permitted in the apartment (one, but he might have lost that privilege somewhere along the path home), quality Asian fusion takeout, sisterly bonding time (with children stashed away), and Vicky Christina Barcelona, which was truly fantastic (thank you, Woody!).

WANTED: For obstruction of sleep. Armed with instruments and surprisingly skillful lungs.

However, Trofie Wife's attempt at blissful sleep on Saturday night dissipated around 4:30 a.m. when the type of loud noises that could only be made by a baby (or toddler or whatever she is) emerged from the room next door; by 7 a.m. the older one was banging his tambourine. It was clear that I really needed to get out of that place! So, I maneuvered myself to the train station and enjoyed the truly gorgeous rail ride between Milan and Zurich (if you ever have the chance to do it, please do; you pass all the lakes and rows upon rows of mountainous skyline).

During my nearly two-hour layover in a sunny Milan, I ruminated on how we needed to spend more time there (preferably outside the train station). When I finally arrived in Arenzano, I basked in the quiet of our apartment and greeted an equally exhausted Martello when he walked through the door about an hour later. Trofie Wife slept very well that night, thank you.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

My Bologna Has a First Name…

Martello has already regaled you with many tales of our lovely weekend in Bologna. Trofie Wife’s mission is to fill in the details, act as the putty to his plastering (or something like that). Martello neglected to mention that we should once again be lauded for making an early train (despite Martello having to race back to the apartment and then to the train station due to a miscommunication about who had the camera—no one) and landing in Bologna by 11 a.m. I will also add that our lovely hotel allowed us to get into our room —featuring orange décor— before official check-in time, so we could check out the awesome view of the city below (though Trofie Wife was none too comfortable with the window, which lacked a screen or bar despite our soaring height).

Martello already drew a picture of the gorgeous Biblioteca Communale. I will merely add that libraries are my favorite type of place, and I was tempted to just deposit myself in this particularly grand one for the remainder of the trip. But if I had done that, I would have missed our lovely passeggiata through the Quadrilatero district—replete with enticing food stalls (where we purchased the most succulent strawberries ever and fresh honey) as well as our hike up (and back down again) the high tower (Pisa is so overrated).

To prove Pisa's mediocrity, the Bologna tower folks posted this sign midway up. 

Following said hike—which occurred during the official lunch hours—we managed to sweet talk our way into a last-minute lunch at a cute little place that had fantastic zucca (pumpkin) tortellini. Martello described most of the latter half of the afternoon, but I'll just add that we also found our way to the oft-used trade fair grounds (incidentally, a project on which a colleague of Martello’s worked).

We can both honestly state that our meal at the Osteria de’ Poeti was far and away one of the best that we’ve had in Italy thus far—and that’s clearly saying a lot! In addition to the fine food and wine, we were treated to live music. Unfortunately, the stylings were mainly cheesy American tunes (the one-man synthesizer phenom opened with Sting’s “Fields of Gold”). However, once the Italian and Latin music started swirling and the quasi-karaoke (fueled by alcohol-laden locals) got rolling, it was a much more pleasurable experience. And Bologna’s lit piazza made for a romantic stroll home.

On Sunday, we explored the old Jewish ghetto and museum. It was fairly empty and not incredibly interesting (there was a lot of generic information about the Jewish people, which Martello and I are already somewhat acquainted with) apart from the relatively brief exhibit on the history of the Jews of Bologna and the wider Emilia-Romagna region (Jews were in or out of favor depending on the season (or pope or doge), kind of like mini-skirts). Once a Papal State, Bologna was the setting of the infamous kidnapping case of Edgardo Mortara, who was seized from his family by the Catholic Church in 1858. Due to the fact that a servant had had him baptized when he was ill, the Church claimed that he was Catholic and thus could not be raised by Jews. (Apparently this law has since been relaxed. I have a sister who was baptized by a nanny in Vicenza. None of the sitting popes since the early 1960s have laid claim to her, though I might note that she is an excellent cook and loves cats, Benedict.) Absurdly, although Mortara reestablished some connection with his family, he went on to become a priest and attempted to bring Jews into the Church (i.e. convert them en masse). Trofie Wife has read that this is still a bit of a touchy subject (in relation to the sainthood candidacy of the pope in question, Pius IX), so maybe that is why there is not a lot of information about the incident on display at the museum. Another bit of information that I would have liked more in-depth information about (and Google hasn’t turned up anything else) was the brief mention of there being at least one Jewish woman amongst the prominent money lenders in the community—she must have been something else! The museum also has a separate wing for rotating art exhibits and apparently has some sort of Hebrew learning program as well—we spotted an easel with the alef bet in one of the locked classrooms.    

Following the history lesson, we headed to an award-winning gelateria, La Sorbetteria Castiglione. It was really difficult to decide on flavors; there were just so many from which to choose! We then spent the rest of the day in Modena, gazing at yellow buildings, the awe-inspiring church (I think synagogues need more Romanesque arches), and bottle upon bottle of Lambrusco and pricey balsamic vinegar (we picked up some more moderately priced ones). Modena also has a vaunted Jewish history and still-active community of sorts, but there wasn’t time to check it out; perhaps during the next trip. We ended this extremely pleasurable weekend three trains later, despite a scolding by Trenitalia personnel on Train #2 due to Martello breaking all protocol and opening the door after the conductor had been given the all-clear (he says in his defense that if we hadn’t forced our way onto this train—our original was over an hour late—we’d still be waiting at the transfer point).

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Move Over Must-See TV: Thursday Night is Movie Night

Martello and Trofie Wife recently took advantage of the original language theatre yet again, meeting in downtown Genoa post-work for a viewing of The Wrestler. Having mentioned on this blog before my impressions of the quaint matinees, I discovered that the evening shows are quite another (crowded) story. Trofie Wife was wise enough to advise that we purchase our tickets prior to getting a quick bite to eat. By show time, the ticket line was well out the door; the theatre was kind enough to hold up the film until everyone still waiting could purchase their tickets and get seated (like that would ever happen in New York!). The crowd was mostly an Italian one, either eager to hear English, or, more likely, just annoyed by all that dubbing. More so than other films I’ve seen here, The Wrestler is definitely contextual; I think the more you know of New Jersey, the better you are able to understand many of the references. I’m sure most of our readers have seen the movie by now, so I will only add that Mickey Rourke was every bit as good as advertised, and Trofie Wife enjoyed the stroll down memory lane (oh how I loved late ’80s-early ’90s WWF pro-wrestling!).

Incidentally, we ran into several of Martello’s co-workers, who he did not know were coming (I gladly offered up my NJ translation services). After the show, we joined them for a quick nightcap, where I learned what amaro was (apparently some sort of Italian bitters akin to Jagermeister; I have yet to try it, I just asked what it was when I saw it in a port-sized glass) and scored a ride home. Despite the late bedtime, we somehow managed to rouse ourselves early enough so that Martello could get a glimpse of the Friday market. We purchased some fresh vegetables and fruits and then Martello headed to his job, while I returned home to mine.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Current (Ok, Actually Belated) Events

(Note: Trofie Wife is about three weeks behind in blogging due to an increased work load. Ironically, lots of things worth sharing have also occurred during this period. I’m trying my best to get it all up here and up to date this week; apologies for what I fear will be information overload (a state Martello claims I am not familiar with as a “collector of information.”)

First off, we thank all of those who forwarded on the New York Times article on vending machine pizza (http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/14/business/worldbusiness/14vend.html?pagewanted=1&hp, for those of you who haven’t seen it). We have not yet seen or even heard about these particular machines here, but I have already vouched for, on this blog, the wonders of the Italian coffee/hot drink vending machines. We’ll be sure to report back should we happen to run into one of these artificially intelligent pizza makers.

In other belated news, some of you may have heard sad reports about the roving attack dogs in Sicily (see http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/7949181.stm). Trofie Wife never quite connected with the people who run the canile in Arenzano, but some of the points elucidated in this article help to reinforce why they might not have been so bullish about me serving as a volunteer without ever having owned a dog. Apparently, Italian dog kennels are drastically underfunded but sorely needed. A good portion of the animals aren’t socialized, but whereas in the States, euthanasia is carried out on dogs that just don’t seem like they’ll ever make the adopability cut, mercy killing is verboten here (and opportunities for rehabilitation rare). That makes for a bad combination—and a good reason why the dog kennel people, even in quaint Arenzano, want to know that you know your canine stuff. Alas, Trofie Wife’s search for consistent canine affection remains unrequited….(sigh).

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

some more blogging

so a few weeks ago, we booked it to bologna for a lovely weekend, and while Trofie Wife will undoubtedly write more backstory, i will share some thoughts.

these two leaning towers constitute a central bologna landmark of construction mediocrity to rival pisa:


most likely, the bricklayers had too much lambrusco (a very sweet, red version of prosecco native to the region, which is apparently not the coolest beverage to bring to a party). we climbed the taller of the two (it's only about 4ft askew), and had this eye-opening view down to the shorter neighbor, listing nearly 11ft from plumb:


in modern times, some *crazy* architect (a certain hackneyed d.libeskind comes to mind...) might intentionally design a dramatically angular structure, rigorously studying geometries and cantilevers, yet this unplanned instance is highly captivating precisely because it's genuinely erroneous. it is perhaps an illustration of the perils (and possibilities) of laying one brick at a time, compounding smaller lapses, rather than working towards a goal.

the newlyweds atop a tower:

this building typology flourished in medieval bologna, as over 180 towers sprouted. built by wealthy families as symbols of power, they vary in proportions, ornament, porosity... here's another:

moving from potency to fertility, some other intriguing bologna snapshots include this lovely fountain in piazza maggiore:

and this spruced-up door knocker (sorry, couldn't help it):

bologna has always been a center of anatomical and other research, as the home to the oldest continually-operating university in europe (third in the world, after fez and cairo). public body dissections were staged on a marble slab in the center of the teatro anatomico, with fantastic wood sculpted figures like apollo hanging from the coffers above. unfortunately photos inside this space did not come out too well, so, dear reader, you're just going to have to go see it yourself. i do, however, have a photo of Trofie Wife looking 'positively anatomical':
Trofie Wife is here enjoying herself (perhaps a bit too much?) in the massage chair of the hotel lobby, after a long day touring.

some other weekend pics:

a large student population has maintained bologna as a hotbed of activism. critical mass is a loose movement in support of cycling and non-motorized transit. they occasionally stage 'protests' by cycling (and roller-blading, etc) en masse through major thoroughfares (in philly, nyc, and many other locales). sitting in front of the duomo, we witnessed critical mass bologna, seemingly unaware of the irony in pedaling through an already-pedestrianized piazza.

speaking of the duomo, it is the fifth largest in the world (but who's counting?), though would have been larger than st. peter's if not for jealous papal intervention, resulting in some abrupt architectural 'flourishes', especially at this transept:
(still grand inside):
the romanesque duomo in modena, to which we ventured the following day, i found far more evocative. exposed brick construction breaks down the tremendous scale; heavy, dark massive materials and proportions rather than soaring, thin, pointy and light; and moody darkness starkly pierced by light rather than even bathing in celestial light--these contrasts firmly set the modena cathedral in the kingdom of the earth and bologna in the heavens. some pics from modena:

amusing, fanciful sculptures were integrated into the architecture throughout the modena cathedral, such as these column details:




(yes, that last one is a lion eating a man).

this one is taxidermied nutria (cute-ria?) from a science exhibit we passed in a bologna piazza.
while i don't know of any nutria delicacies, you can find much else in the famed salumerias of the meat-centric bologna (discard any preconceptions of the eponymous american lunch meat). it really is amazing how sharply different the cuisine is within relatively short distances here.


while i'm at it, looking through my photos, i have to throw in another shot from cinque terre, because it's just ridiculously stunning.


and now i take leave, not wanting to steal too much of Trofie Wife's thunder. there will be lots more to come on bolognese jews, gelato (duh), encounters with trenitalia personnel, and other untold adventures...

bologna e aceto balsamico,
martello