Supermarket Swept

After completing a respectable amount of work Wednesday morning, Trofie Wife set out to partake in some afternoon marketing. After realizing to my dismay that the bakery with the good whole wheat rolls was now closed on Wednesday afternoons (random), I visited the smaller grocery store in centro. As I walked in, I noticed an uncomfortable emptiness. Each aisle appeared as a minor ghost town, with markedly fewer items on the shelves than usual. Was it inventory day, I wondered? (I’ve definitely been at Trader Joe’s on 14^th Street on the day prior to delivery day when the food is nearly all gone, but this occurrence in Arenzano seemed eerily different.) Were rationings kicking in due to the world credit crisis? Cuts in production or ordering? (Even so, my favorite cereal was still on the shelves, so that was at least a relief.) Or was the supermarket closing?? I didn’t notice any formal indication of such a travesty posted at the entryway, but given that my Italian is not up to snuff, perhaps I missed it. Would we now be forced to trek to the huge grocery store on the highway to pick up essentials? What was going on??

After a careful inspection of all aisles (including a long lingering at the unhealthy snack section—sue me), I figured it out. They were installing new shelving throughout the store! All of the missing goods had been dumped in shopping carts and staff members were now slowly arranging them on the shiny yellow shelves, which do appear cleaner and wider, perhaps with room for more interesting food stuffs (yet I still needed to ask for help reaching the lightbulbs...). With my ready access to food and paper goods intact, I paid my bill and headed to the bakery with the good foccacia (yes, it is essential to visit different bakeries for different bready and dolce items).

On another note, yesterday was Ash Wednesday (mercoledì delle Ceneri). Now, we live in Italy and there are a lot of ladies of a certain age around here who one suspects would be into this kind of faith display. But during my outing, I saw not one forehead dabbed with ash or the residue of ashes placed during the morning; there was one false alarm, a middle aged guy whose “ash” turned out to be stubble from his closely-shaved-yet-still-balding head. Trofie Wife is trying to make sense of this seemingly large omission. On the streets and in the schools and offices of New York City, it’s hard to miss the holiday. My Catholic friends would either attend an early mass prior to class/work or if unable to do so then, hit up the church at lunchtime. Maybe the Ligurians are more of an after work crowd? (Though these are the same folks that Martello and I saw duck in and out of Midnight Mass within the space of five minutes... .) Or maybe it’s yet another example of America proving that it is the most fervently religious country in the world, leaving even the hosts of major pilgrimage sites in the dust.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife 

 

In Memoriam

Since Trofie Wife was bereft of her usual Oscar viewing this year, it seems only appropriate to commemorate the occasion with her own “dead persons of cinema” tribute. (I have always found this portion of the show intriguing, yet uncomfortable. Clap the loudest, hoot and holler for the dead person you love the most! I’m guessing Paul Newman was the big winner last night? Pair that reaction with the polite, tentative applause for the obscure character actors, writers, and lighting designers. Follow with awkward segue to a catchy number or semi-funny joke.)

So, back to the matter at hand. Trofie Wife has yet to see a Woody Allen film in Italy (we didn’t quite make it to the Vicky Christina Barcelona screening), but it still saddens me to learn that Woody’s voce italiana, Oreste Lionello, has passed, and I’m now really curious to find out how this Roman native channeled and successfully pulled off New York Jewish neurosis. (Maybe we’ll make it to the video store between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m. one of these days… .) For the full story, see http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5hODxMvDYOYkd6opT9Dn1bXZVAY3wD96ELQJO0

Trofie Wife is also wondering how Woody is coping with news of his double’s demise, being that he’s already so preoccupied with his own mortality and this event must come as a real psychic blow.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife  

Mother Christmas

On the last day before Martello had to return to the daily grind, we took the opportunity to sleep and start the post-vacation catch up on mail, e-mail, laundry, etc. January 6^th is the day of the Epiphany (when the wise men came to Jesus bearing gifts), or locally, La Befana.  Befana is a feminine take on Santa Claus (and they say that Italy's all about machismo!). This character (who may possibly be pagan or Celtic in origin) actually makes a lot more sense than Santa Claus. She’s a witch carrying a broom and she’s covered with soot, since she’s been going up and down chimneys all night. (It’s also a nice touch that instead of milk and cookies, she gets wine and local cuisine; you just gotta love the Italians! Plus, she’s low maintenance. No reindeer.)

Trofie Wife was eager to check out this Befana character for herself, so I attempted to get to centro in time for the celebration (this little town celebrates everything in that square!), which was vaguely scheduled for the “afternoon.” Well, it was uncharacteristically cold, so I dawdled in leaving the apartment, and by the time I arrived, it was clear that the celebration was over. I did, however, catch two Befanas at the end of their shift and saw some evidence of animal balloon art.

Here’s a little ditty about La Befana:

http://video.libero.it/app/play?id=a9fe96587d4130cc6855931ae5c41190

To cap off our vacation, Martello and I ordered some pizza d’asporto (take out!), which we verily enjoyed in the comfort of our casa. We then set the alarm and got ready to return to the new normal.  

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Casa Dolce Casa!

The Lausanne métro has a characteristic that the MTA should consider importing. Each stop on the line has its own tune associated with the neighborhood; drum trills at one; horse clop clops at another. The sound effects could prove very helpful should you doze off; you’ll be startled to wakefulness by the tone of your stop! (Let's see, a jingle from "42nd Street" when you hit Times Square, a "cha-ching" (or maybe not so much anymore) on Wall Street, bongo drumming at 7th Avenue in Park Slope... .)

If you include the metro, it took us SIX trains to return to Arenzano. Apparently all the Italians were travelling on January 5^th since the 6^th was another holiday, Epiphany (more on that soon). The train we desired to take from Lausanne to Milan was already sold out when we arrived at the ticket booth, so we camped out in the station for several hours, getting in a bunch of reading and shivering, since the Lausanne station is mostly exposed to the elements, save for some on-track waiting alcoves. We took the first train from Lausanne to Brig (a big transfer spot) and noted the French once again giving way to German and the passengers loading on their ski gear as mountains appeared in the background. From Brig we headed towards the Italian border town of Domodossola. The scenery along the way was spectacular.

We thought that comfy and not-so-crowded train would take us all the way to Milan, but unfortunately, we had to disembark and hop on an overcrowded regionale. We luckily found seats and a place for our luggage, but many travelers were stuck standing. Nevertheless, it was heartening to hear all of the passengers complaining in Italian. We finally arrived in Milan and transferred to a gorgeous, brand spanking new Genoa-bound train. Midway through the ride, the woman sitting next to us struck up a conversation; she’s an oncologist that had at one point considered moving to the States, but for the time being is practicing in Milan. She gave us lots of great pointers for traveling around Italy and recommended a great local swimming spot for when summer arrives. Arriving in Genoa, we had to wait a bit for our last train of the evening. But when we disembarked in Arenzano 35 minutes after finally boarding, we were delighted. Vacations (even from your year-long vacation) are wonderful and we were thrilled to take this one. But after a while, you miss your own bed. More than anything, our journey into and out of Svizzera made clear that our apartment in Arenzano has really started to become our home, and we were so glad to return to it!

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

All Along the Clocktower

Martello aptly noted that the theme of our first full day in the Francophone portion of La Suisse was “cold and closed.” Granted, it was Sunday—that dreaded, dead day in Switzerland—and for many, it was also the last day of the long holiday. Nevertheless, we hopped an hour-long train to Geneva so we could see the sights. Martello charged Trofie Wife with the walking tour, so with numb toes, we headed to the horloge fleurie, or flower clock, by the lake. Wouldn’t ya know it, there were no flowers in bloom in early January! The clock face still worked, but it didn’t quite pull off the intended effect.

Along the quai we noted the, uh, interesting public art on display. Apparently, a curator determined that it would be “inventive” to charge different artists with putting random stuff in trees all over the city. Perhaps the whole exhibit just went over our heads… . Instead of looking at more chairs suspended from tree branches, we decided to hunt down an elusive clock (those Swiss really do love their timepieces!) that supposedly displayed dancing figurines on the hour. After wandering in circles and nearly giving up, we finally found it in a slightly desolate shopping arcade. The mechanisms possibly were frozen, as the doors opened, but the figurines didn’t parade out as promised. There were lots of bells, though.  

We continued to stroll through the old part of the city, walking by various important sites of the Reformation (Calvinism happened here) and Rousseau’s house. We had a lovely crêpe lunch (savory and sweet) and were delighted to attempt to eavesdrop on an Italian family at the table next to us (yup, we were starting to get “homesick”).

We then took a tram to the Carouge neighborhood, which the guidebook touted as Geneva’s Greenwich Village. The streets and buildings definitely lived up to their reputed cuteness, but, malheureusement, tous les magasins sont fermé (see, I can write much better than I speak! By the way, that meant that all the stores were closed).

On our way back to the train station, we stopped by the synagogue (and Holocaust memorial plaque), which appeared to be under construction.

We also had zilch success in seeking out an ice cream shop with reputedly weird flavors (carrot!); it was closed for the season (please, ice cream IS NOT a seasonal treat!). To add insult to injury, our final supper in Switzerland was a total disaster. The only place open on Sunday night was a fondue shop. Since we had had our fill of cheese in Zurich, we tried to find other menu items that would accommodate us. Trofie Wife read that menu very, very slowly while Martello ran back into the cold to track down an ATM, since this place with its old school waiters (think Peter Lugar gruffness) had some beef with credit. Our combination of a salad with tuna on top and saffron risotto was pitiful; luckily, we found some more chocolate in our bags upon return (well, at least Trofie Wife did. Martello ate his real food, the tuna.)

We went to bed eager to begin our morning trek. Our vacation had been long and it was now time to go home.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Leaving Deutsch, Entering Français

So, back to Basel...

Just a few minutes before 10 a.m., there was an assertive knock on the door. Apparently the Easyhotel management is quite serious about checkout time. Luckily, we were eager to get on with the day’s adventures, so our bags were already packed and ready to be stored at the front desk. First on our agenda was the Fondation Beyler (http://www.beyeler.com/fondation/e/html_01start/01_sta__main.php). This beautiful museum filled up quickly, owning to not only the lovely location and permanent collection but also the special exhibit on Venice (Impressionists=large crowd). Martello and I were happy that we had visited Venice prior to seeing this exhibit, a fact that endowed us with some contextual knowledge (and at least in Trofie Wife's case, an ability to skim). 

After we finished touring the grounds, we took a tram back to the town center and went our separate ways—Martello to the Swiss Architecture Museum (http://www.sam-basel.org/) and Trofie Wife to the Puppenhausmuseum (featuring dolls and teddy bears; http://www.puppenhausmuseum.ch/Startpage.1+M59607b34d43.0.html).  Aside from having an awesome name, the Puppenhaus houses a wonderful collection. It contains four floors of historic bears, dolls, and related paraphernalia, including charming period postcards and birthday cards in each stairwell. Each floor is equipped with a digital library; just enter the teddy’s or doll’s item number into the computer and you get its back story (the computer determined that I was particularly drawn to 1930s Steiff bears). Also of note were some great Americana scenes (including a whole section on Teddy Roosevelt) and some amazing Tinguely-worthy mechanical toys, including an entire carnival scene with moving rides!

I still had some time before Martello and I were set to rendezvous, so it shouldn’t come as any surprise that I scouted out the bakery and cookie shops. Unfortunately, Basel’s treats are no match for Zurich’s. I had some lackluster Läckerli cookies (Basel originals; I’m not sure if the ones I purchased were slightly stale, or if that’s just how they taste) and sub-par macaroon cookies that it would be an insult to compare to the vaunted Luxemburgerli. Upon finding Martello, he led me to the Tinguely sculpture garden. Here’s what we saw:

Pretty cool, huh? Sadly, adjacent to the garden was a Richard Serra sculpture that had been covered almost entirely with graffiti. The graffiti in Switzerland is another unexpected shocker. We saw it on the Grossmünster (A CHURCH) in Zurich and would continue to encounter it throughout the rest of our time in Svizzera. Zurich Brother-in-Law told us that it appeared to be the one “vice” in which otherwise straight-and-narrow Swiss kids could partake, since many other activities, verboten in the States, are openly accepted/decriminalized there. (I’m just still smarting from the open acceptance of tagging on a church. The paint didn’t even seem fresh… .)

As the sun went down, Martello led us to some other architectural monuments, including a train switch tower, biological sciences building, and apartment complex all by Herzog & de Meuron; we also passed the synagogue, which was staffed with two security guards (we weren’t sure if people were actually inside or not; the community just might have been taking extra precautions with the Gaza ground incursion underway). Trofie Wife’s patience was wearing a bit thin due to the cold and her anxiousness to get to the French-speaking part of the country (enough with the German already!). We finally got our luggage from the Easyhotel front desk and boarded a train. Thankfully, Trofie Wife was able to piece together a sentence in French in order to figure out our transfer at Biel to a train to Lausanne (you’d think after all those years of French I’d be a little bit better in the speaking department, but alas…).

Arriving in Lausanne, we found ourselves hiking up a steep, cobblestone hill in order to reach our hotel, which was adjacent to the famed cathedral. (Of course, the next day we discovered that our hotel abutted a Métro stop…).

Lausanne is definitely picturesque, but due to our late arrival, we ended up in a less-than-lovely portion of the city. We had decent pizza at a food court and watched imitation MTV featuring bad American music. We returned to the hotel to watch CNN International (given the ground incursion) and ponder the room’s décor; the pink leopard carpet definitely raised our suspicions that the hotel might have had a colorful past… Nevertheless, Trofie Wife was pleased to finally visit a French-speaking place and eager to be able to (at least slightly) understand street signs and the world around her.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife 

Un Giorno Triste for Culinary Peace and Harmony

Trofie Wife was appalled and embarrassed to learn that the so-called cosmopolitan Milan along with Lucca (in Tuscany) have banned any new “foreign” eateries from opening within city limits. Of course these eateries are of the kebab, chow mein, and shumai variety; hamburgers and escargot are exempt from exile.

Martello is especially homesick for falafel and other Middle Eastern veggie delights and dines on them whenever the opportunity arises (as it yummily did in Torino). This article points out that Italy’s vaunted cuisine was built on imports from Peru (the tomato) and likely China (spaghetti):

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/food_and_drink/article5622156.ece

Trofie Wife will be sure to keep readers informed as this story develops. She believes it would be unlikely for the ban to wind its way down to Liguria, but apparently anything is possible in Italy!

Baci e gelato (and in solidarity with falafel, sushi, and lo mein),

Martello e Trofie Wife