72 hours...after the operation

Since Nate in Okinawa took such a concerned interest in MB's welfare (yes it's still Mister - he's got his dingaling you know), I took some time out of my busy gardening schedule to stitch together a bunch of videos shot this morning. I apologize for the lack of choreography and for dancing in my overalls, but weeds just don't give a hoot if you need to break for 10 minutes. Special thanks go to Baxter the dachshund for demonstrating his boogieing moves.

And as stated two posts ago, I usually don't care to swipe pics of guys in uniform but the ???'s raised on the masked man necessitated an explanation...of sorts. This is a couple years back and I imagine that after some time, anybody would bulk out "guns" if they did the dirty work like these boys do. Eat your heart out, Tom "Top Gun Maverick" Cruise.

Festival of the Human Towers

Irsina (Basilicata) - Just my misfortune that it takes 9+ hours by car to reach this part of the country because I would love to see the “human towers” shown in the video. We've been to the Basilicata region years ago on a visit to the Sassi of Matera (if you've seen Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ, then you should have an idea of how this area looks like). The International Festival of Human Towers (italian) occurs this weekend and after looking into the site I discovered that human towers are an even bigger event in Catalan. Watch the second video and you'll see what I mean — sort of boggles the mind when you realize that high school cheerleaders already make it look so exciting. The Castellers de VilaFranca set an example of teamwork in the utmost sense of the word, but can you imagine being at the bottom level? Ouch, my aching head. I wonder how long a road trip to Vilafranca del Penedès in Spain? (The ulterior motive would be feasting on catalan cuisine of course!)

It's off....to the vet

By my clock he should be back in about 3 hours, and I hope that for what MotH will have doled out (130 euros), the "operation" will prove to be the right decision to lessen the aggression in our beloved little dachshund. I think he knew something was up this morning when I said 'no treats for you', and when he and the MotH were driving away, I could hear him crying in the back of the car. Maddie wasn't the least bit bothered by his absence and spent the better part of the morning hunting lizards.

“Take it like a man Mister B! Big boys don't cry.”

Now while I don't usually make a habit of pinching OPP (other people's photos), I really doubt that my son would mind me illustrating this post one step further. It's not like I didn't take the time to shield his identity. I was supposed to have flown down to Sicily (Sigonella) to meet him but the USAF doesn't send its men out on taxpayers' dimes to play tourist with their mommies. I am in total agreement with that. It's just that he wasn't even able to fly up north to meet us (on our dime) which is a shame. A shame as I'm sure he'd have a little chat with Mister B, who I might add, would have been in awe of all that testerone-fueled muscle.

Lumacaron

I had such high hopes of eating snails for National Escargot Day (today), but as luck would have it, none were to be found at any of the markets in town. Where the heck did they all go? I knew that I should have purchased them a week ago (live snails in the fridge, whee!) yet the idea of them sitting there, slowly getting stale... They were available from 2 weeks prior so I can only assume that like turkeys on Tday, the snails hightail it outta Dodge when the 24th of May draws near. Score one [1] for the mollusks and zero [0] for me; next time around those snails are soup, so on to plan B - snail cookies with a french inspiration.

The lumaca is an italian gastropod in my garden. The macaron is a french almond-meringue cookie. However you pronounce it (of either italian or french persuasion), Italy meets France in this marriage of two very unrelated subjects, and you know what? They're prettier than some dark goobers on a plate. How to go about creating these lumacarons is no secret. You simply follow any one of the recipes online for making macarons, but instead of tiny mounds, you pipe left and right-sided spirals beginning from the center leading out into a snailhead. No need to worry about creating proper "feet" - snails have only one foot the last time I checked! Chocolate ganache is easier to make than flavored buttercreams. Not the real deal for this celebration, but for some it may be easier to stomach.

Angels & Demons (for free)

Well of course we had to go out and see the film and - yaawwwn - what a disappointment. I knew that they would stray somewhat from the book but that much? I was ready to walk out at the interval (in Italy there's always a short break in the middle of the movie), but seeing that we paid to get in...no, wait a minute, the ticket receipt says omaggio?!? OMAGGIO! You mean it was a gift? Well then please give us our 11€ back because 0.00 euros smells like somebody is not paying taxes. There were at least 50 people in to see the film. At 5.50 euros each - well you do the math. Sneaky, sneaky...

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Pulehu #1: kimchee calamari tentacles

In Hawaii the word pulehu can mean only one thing: you are down for some really great chow from a charcoal grill. Leaning toward my island roots, I opted to write pulehu instead of the italian grigliata although in everyday conversation I always use the latter. Now that temps have warmed up enough for grilling season, I thought to do a series of image posts on what gets thrown on the flames or goes served with the meal. Beginning with this entry, it's clear that spontaneity rules supreme on our palates. I had a little bit of Momoya kimchee base left and used it in a stirfry of itty bitty calamari legs. Along with argentinian sirloins and spring garlic with italian flat beans, it did everything to potentiate our commando breath.

Coming up this weekend...

Snail pastries and National Escargot Day (May 24th).

Cafe culture: McCafé

One, two, three.. so it took 6 years to finally set foot into this place — will you forgive me? Naturally McD's was next in line after visiting Il Caffé, otherwise how would I have come to know Lecco's franchise had such style? Yes, Mcstyle. Sir Ronald went the sophisticated route with a look that I can only describe as modern chic at this address. Camel tan and black/brown leather upholstered seats in the main dining room usher in a subdued air. Gleaming chrome and what appeared to be dark marble countertops in the ordering section accentuate the cool, sleek theme. This is McDonald's, right? At 9:30am McCafé was devoid of customers but there's a valid reason for that - big McBreakfasts are not the norm in Italy. Lunch, I'm sure, is their busiest hour.

Presenting myself as the confused foreign tourist, I wanted to see how the service measured up to the surroundings and McCrew did not let me down. You can have your coffee served in a real cup (tazza - TAHT-zah) with spoon if not taking it to go. The cappuccino - good heavens I couldn't believe I saw this - received barista treatment with cocoa powder and chocolate syrup cappu-art. Do they have this in the states? Do they even have cappuccino? All I ever got was plain, drip-style coffee in a styrofoam cup. This franchise probably has to try harder with the competition they're up against, but at 3.30 euros for a morning meal deal, I'm likin' it. 3.5 out of 5 stars for proving that fastfood doesn't necessarily mean zero class, and of course, let's not forget the view! (click on the left/right arrow or mouse around 180°)

McDonald's McCafé
Via Lungolario Isonzo, 14
Lecco
McMenu morning deal: 3.30 euros/4.50 dollars

1 cappuccino, espresso or caffe americano
1 orange juice
1 croissant (plain or jam-filled) or chocolate brioche

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No internet, no party

Fifth day and counting, and supposedly we'll have the line back tomorrow. It took all morning just to get to this point, so I had better hurry before my luck runs out. Apparently evil squirrels have caused a mess with the spaghetti lines (no point in losing a sense of humor over all this). "No outside influence in the chestnut forest!" they cry. Telecom Italia is up in arms. I'm rolling eyeballs but had all morning to bake 4 loaves of bread, churn 3 types of gelato and work in the garden to boot. Gosh, I'm beat. What we need is a bar like this.

Hakuna Matata - even if they might have changed it up a little to avoid copyright issues, the letter "H" is never pronounced in Italy anyway.

Cafe culture: Il Caffé

Sitting down at a cafe in Italy may be one of those must-do's for visitors, but for us it's only a weekend occasion when the weather has warmed up nicely. I know how a dining experience can either make or break a person's evening when they're on vacation but when it comes to mornings? Yes I know there are those who will run to the first McDonald's, and Lecco has one with a splendid lakeside view so you can say “I'm Lovin' It!” while enjoying la dolce vita at the same time. Still, I thought it would be helpful to rate the cafes in our 'hood. Cafe-goers elsewhere in the world might also be interested to know how things tally up at the cashier.

Il Caffé
Piazza Mario Cermenati 19 (tucked in between the two large buildings)
Lecco
Total: 11 euros/15 dollars

4 brioches (that's what they call them here) - 4 euros
2 cappuccio - 4 euros
2 caffé espresso - 3 euros

Il Caffé has always been our favorite because of the funky art-chic decor and the selection of filled brioche. Chocolate, pastry cream, zabaione (marsala-flavored custard but you can't really taste the alcohol), almond, blueberry and apricot of those I can remember. The foam on the cappuccio wasn't a mountainous, tight cap like some would expect, but in Italy I've learned that it's the coffee that matters most. 5 out of 5 stars for brioche heaven.

Note: If you click on the right directional pointer you should be able to see part of the lake.

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Which dog is known to be stubborn and jealous?

You can probably already guess where this is going. On an italian trivia show the other night we couldn't help but laugh and point an accusing finger at Mister B when the answer to the question turned out to be none other than a dachshund (bassotto tedesco). Poor guy, I bet he wasn't doggone happy to get called out over a chihuahua, and while I feel that they should've specified which type of dachshund, those familiar with the breed will agree a "wire-haired" like Mr. Bentley definitely falls closer to that description. In the words of the blond hostess, this type of dog would rather be cuddled and spoiled. Well I'm sorry but this afternoon he gets to meet with the vet regarding a couple of "things" even if nothing has been firmly decided.

The truth is, you would never think he was a hardheaded fool if you saw him on a car ride; you'd just feel sorry for him. Most of the time MrB lays down in a single position for the duration, not moving an inch until the car has stopped. Other times he hooks his head over the doggie barrier and gazes listlessly in one direction, never responding to visual/aural stimulation from outside scenery at all. No amount of coaxing or dog treats will change his outlook on traveling by vehicle. Maddie by comparison is a jetsetter. Four hours to Piemonte? Yawwwwwwwwwwn. It took us 3 times as much to get to Paris!

Le Merende Sinoire

Vineria Trattoria - via Piancroesio 64, Paesana (Cuneo)

I wish we had these types of eateries in Lombardia. Merenda [singular] means a snack taken mid-morning/mid-afternoon. Add to this the word sinoira [pl. sinoire] and what you've got is a late-afternoon reason for skipping dinner altogether. In the Po Valley we saw at least 3 of these wine/snackbar establishments with signs out on the roadside, and just like the leafy frasca in Friuli, we couldn't miss out on the region's local flair. Typically, the merenda sinoira begins at around 5pm, but according to the woman who runs Vineria Trattoria, customers can expect to be served meat, cheese and whatever else on the menu any time during opening hours. I like the casual ease of places like this since you don't have to dress up. People come in for an espresso or a glass of wine and a quick chat before heading off their merry way.

The dialect of this area was mainly undecipherable by the MotH, but it was enough to know that like anywhere else in this great big world, the local hangout is where you share your ups and downs with the regulars. I only wish that I had thought to ask one simple question of the man sitting next to us: 'Scuse me, but could you tell us where's the best place to eat dinner?

A selection of locally cured meats: salame, prosciutto, lardo, mortadella, roasted pork. Meat plays a large role in piemontese cuisine. Fried, boiled or stuffed into pasta, they are all delicious but it left me hungering for fresh, leafy greens when we got back.

Not for bland palates. This dish of cured anchovies on toast doused in a potent garlic, parsley and olive oil sauce (salsa verde) was heavy on the salty side. I enjoyed it but only between sips of red wine to wash it all down. If we had ordered cheese and whatever else on the menu, it would have been just too much for the arteries and blood pressure. Still, I'd do this all over again. For less than 24 euros we avoided having to go out again for dinner. The following are just some reviews on a couple of other restaurants we went to in the area.

La Torre

via Villa, 35
Brondello, (Cuneo)

Where or where did I go wrong? How is it okay to be kept waiting almost 40 minutes for each dish? I chose this restaurant out of the Slow Food guide because it was noted for having an excellent choice of cheese. I guess we'll never know because in the end, the 'mouse' in me squeaked, "Let's blow this joint because no stinky cheese is worth sitting it out for 2 hours." End of story. I'll refrain from giving this place a bad mark since the pastas, duck and lamb were fairly decent, albeit lukewarm. The owner needs to realize that timing is essential. Even if you don't use "pre-cooked foods" (he actually said that), Slow Food does not mean operating at a snail's pace. Regrettable, rude and boorish.

Ristorante Sarvanot

via Maestra n°3
Castellar (Cuneo)

This is just the sort of place where locals in-the-know go for a satisfying, unfussy meal. I regret not having amazing food pics to share, but it would only disappoint those who fancy form over function. We will definitely return here the next time we visit Po Valley, and believe me, for 22 euros pp, the degustazione (tasting menu) of 3 antipasti, 2 pasta dishes and a secondo (meat) was filling! This included an old-fashioned apple cake with gelato, every bite confirming that the food here is definitely made from scratch. The service was welcoming but discreet, and the atmosphere was that warm, comfy, italian style where everything is in polished wood and pale, crisp linens. The name of the restaurant, if you haven't noticed, is the same name for those woodland creatures that I had written about previously. We didn't go so far as to ask why Sarvanot because something else caught our attention on a poster outside. On the first 2 Sundays of May, a Festa degli Spaventapasseri (celebration of the scarecrows) is held in the village. Our restaurant host explained that it was a great family event for kids, with scarecrows (they look quite cheerful in the photos!) all around and activities for the little ones.

Deerspotting

That would be capriolo-spotting in Italy. Even with the disappointment of not being able to complete a hike in its entirety, we were never lacking for subtle surprises in the wild. On this particular trail we were kindly forewarned by a resident that an avalanche had disrupted the route, but that there was a way to get around it. What he neglected to include, or just didn't know about, was another blocked point further along the way. Had we known this beforehand we might not have even bothered walking it at all.

Doe, a deer, a female deer

So there we were, all four of us, thinking that it was high time for lunch. We walked up to a clearing and suddenly MotH says in a hushed tone of voice, "Capriolo! There, under the tree! No, make that two, no three of them!" Now I am as blind as a bat without binoculars and I thought he was just pulling my leg. Roe deer over here of all places? My thinking was that they would have either smelled or heard us long before and escaped to higher elevation.

Deerspotting at Torrette, Valle Varaita

From where we stood (about the length of a football field), my telephoto lens was probably a couple hundred bucks inadequate for the distance. They took off in a flash as soon as we edged closer, but that wasn't the last we were to see of them. On the return we encountered one of the deer standing in the middle of the path. It cut through the woods in the direction of the village and Mister B immediately gave chase before he was stopped by some thick brush and shouts to come back. The deer, not really digging our having disrupted the peace, started barking from somewhere in the woods. It sounded like, let's see... something that was hacking a big ball of phlegm? At first I thought it was a wild dog, not believing that deer made any kind of noise at all. Listening to this sound clip, you realize it is sooo not Bambi.

Up ahead the trail (between the field posts) was cut short by a mass of snow and rubble.

il Sarvanot

Tales of mischievious, mythical beings exist in nearly every culture, but this is the first I've heard of naughty woodland imps in my 6 years of living here. In Hawaii there is the industrious menehune, and while I can't ever claim having seen them, the story goes that the menehunes built a ditch and a fishpond on the island of Kauai. In Italy, stories of sarvanot in the Occitan valleys portray a creature bent on causing trouble, and while researching trails in Valle Varaita, I came upon info where they were implemented in a particular itinerary. A cultural group in the village of Rore had created an environment depicting these short, unbecoming and hairy creatures in their natural surroundings. See link (italian).

We were only able to see one of them. It felt a little bit weird taking the photo because I had to get up pretty close, but I felt as if someone unseen was watching me! Just an overactive imagination because the dogs didn't even turn to sniff. Awww mama! That's only a dummy!! This was the first outing where we were forced to turn back barely 15 minutes into the hike. Landslides and heavy snow melt had rendered parts of the path impassable where it crossed over a normally tranquil stream.

The Places In Between

See you next time Monviso! Back from the northwestern region of Piemonte, the map illustrates 3 of the Occitan valleys (Cuneo province) that we had hoped to get some hiking miles in. The taller peak (3841 meters) was one of the destinations we so wanted to reach, well to be more specific, to reach the mountain refuge Quintino Sella at its base of 2640 meters. As you can see, it was errr...pretty snowed in. Yes we are a crazy bunch. Some people book the Hilton - we, instead, want to be alpine ibex. Preoccupied for want of a sunny weather forecast and neglecting to check existing climate conditions became a disadvantage. Sheesh...how was I to know that spring only just arrived in this part of Piemonte? Rain, hail, avalanches, landslides, snow-blocked roads and a boulder large enough to bar the way into town curtailed every attempt at hiking Po Valley and beyond. Without the benefit of snow raquettes and heavy clothing, we were, to put it in a nice way, up snow creek.

zoom out

It wasn't a complete bust because the places in between those valleys spell home to discoveries involving culture, folklore, history, a curious language and of course, traditional foods. From the mythical sarvanot - the short, hairy inhabitants of the mountain environs - to our lust for moldy cheese, we were far from missing out on nature. On the contrary, it was also the first time lodging at an ecolabel b&b whose goal is directed toward maintaining a low impact on the environment while helping to promote tourism.

The Places In Between by Rory Stewart was my bedtime read while we were away and if you can't already tell from the cover, it had a lot to do with putting one foot in front of the other. While I do admire the author's determination detailed in this bold account, I don't think we'll be following in his footsteps any time soon. I can't speak persian.

The immediate truth about this book was learning how much I fall short on world geography. When you hear the word Afghanistan you think wars and the Taliban, but who really makes a point of looking it up on the map? In recounting his incredulous journey from Herat to Kabul, Stewart reveals both a historical, cultural and intimate side to the country that confirms why we should never judge a book by its cover. Regardless of whether you think of Stewart as a complete nut or a man with a lot of guts, his courageous tale in a harsh land should open the doors to the places in between.