Summer Idyll

I know at this point I run the risk of becoming a cliché, the pretentious American who vacations in Italy and is always going on in a nasal brag that everything is just so much better in Italy, the food, the lifestyle, yes they sure know how to live, those Italians.....but I really do enjoy going to Italy, and I always have a nice time. This time around, the trip to Bormio was probably one of the best trips I've ever had.

In a certain way, going to Bormio feels like going home. I am well-acquainted enough with it by now that the town exudes a warm welcome of friendly familiarity whenever I return. I know where everything is, the different bars and cafés, the streets, how to get around. I know enough people that I get looks of curious recognition by some townspeople, and welcoming cheek kisses and "Ciao!"s by Anna's friends and family. Indeed, seeing these same people working or frequenting the same locales and doing the same things as my last visit--right where I left everything--lends to the warm feeling of continuity one finds at home. Of course, in a sense Bormio is a bubble, the picture perfect mountain hamlet where time stands still, but then again, aren't all homes a kind of bubble?

We spent the first day in Bormio doing the usual necessary things to be done upon arrival: get a real coffee and brioche, a savory lunch, an aperitivo, make the rounds to say "Ciao!" to certain people. After getting back into the groove, we set off for Campaccio in Livigno.

Campaccio.

It should be noted here what Anna's family has done for a living for several generations. They produce a special kind of cheese called bitto, which is made from the milk of cows that feed on special alpine grasses and flowers (one of these flowers actually smells like a chocolate bar, which is interesting, but apparently the cows don't eat it). In the summer, they bring the cows to Livigno to graze on these grasses. The mountain where they have always gone--Campaccio--has two mountain huts, one up the mountain and one at the base, as well as a cowshed for milking. Anna has gone to Campaccio with her family every summer since she was a little girl, and it is probably her favorite place in the world. Because of this, Anna had wanted to show me this place for some time, and I was excited to see it.

It did not disappoint. Not only was it more beautiful and picturesque than Bormio, the colors in the valley, the serenity, and the fresh air was enough to knock you off your feet. It was the ultimate definition of idyllic, and it's probably one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. The pictures I have posted here do not really do it justice.

I have always been curious to see how not only cheese is made, but how Anna's father and brother make bitto. The first day we went up the steep mountain road in the rain to see how it was made.
Of course, the first step in the process was getting the milk. I'm happy to brag a bit and say that I helped with the milking. I didn't actually milk any cows--the machines do that--but I helped carry the milk buckets up to the hut and poured the milk into the giant cauldron for heating. Ever had milk fresh from the cow? It's warm, but you'll never want to drink grocery store milk again. After the milk is collected, it is heated, the fat is broken up into tiny bits with a kind of mesh, and then it is heated again. The fat settles on the bottom of the pot for about half an hour, and then Matteo collects it with a cheesecloth and places it into molds. It sits in the mold for about 10-12 hours to get its shape, and then it is brought into the cellar for it to age. Anna's father and brother do this twice a day, and at the end of the day there are six large wheels of cheese, quite prolific. The excess of this process is also used to make ricotta, and the whey is also used to make cream, which is used to make butter. So in addition to the cheese, about 6 pounds of ricotta and 10 pounds of butter can be made each day. I think it goes without saying that the ricotta and the butter fresh from the churn is amazing and probably spoiled my tastebuds. No wonder Anna is so picky when it comes to food.

Before.....

...and after!! (Fresh butter!)

Being so high up in the Alps, there are plenty of hiking trails on the mountain. The next day Anna wanted to take me to the lake, a lake situated high up past the upper mountain hut nestled among the stony, snowy peaks (Yes, it's cold enough that snow stays on the upper peaks all year. Glaciers also abound.) It was a good ways up, so we set out after a quick lunch with the hope we would be back by 5 to help with the milking. "Let's get a bottle of water for the hike," I said. "No need," Anna replied.
 

Are my feet in the water or out?

You'll never get better water.

As the photos show, she was right--we didn't need water, there was plenty of it, cold and fresh running down off the mountains. You must be joking, I said, drink water from the stream? I'll get sick from a parasite or something!! I got that look. "Moron," Anna said. "This is the cleanest, freshest water in the world. Look." We approached a stream. I'd never seen such clear water before. "Go ahead, drink it." I knelt down like a farm animal, stuck my lips in the stream and took a large draught. She was right. Not only was it cold, but it was the cleanest, most refreshing water I have ever drunk, much better than the spring water I drank from the source in Maine years earlier. I couldn't stop drinking it. I splashed it on my face, I sucked up as much as I could of the stuff. It was like a drug, I couldn't get enough. I wondered whether the natural high I got was from the freshness of the water, or the fact that I had just drunk it directly from the stream. I had always wanted to do that! Where else could you do such a thing? This amazed me--and also quenched my thirst. We contined up the valley towards the lake.

Quenching my thirst like a sheep.

Aside from the beauty of the scenery, the hike up to the lake was a painful reminder of how out of shape I am. My chest heaved for breath in the thin air, and my heart felt like it was going to explode. Once I get done with this thesis business, I really need to start doing some exercise once again. But that's beside the point. It took about two hours to get up to the lake. And it was worth every bit of cardiac chaos. Have a look for yourself.

Base of the valley.

Met some friends along the way.

When we finally reached the lake, we were absolutely knackered, but it was worth it. The lake was crystal clear, serene, deserted. Even though it was a bit chilly, I was hot from the hike up, and the water looked enticing. "It's freezing," Anna warned me. I didn't care--it looked refreshing, and besides, when was the next time I would be able to swim in an alpine lake 10,000 feet up? I hadn't come prepared to swim, but I made do.

We made good time on the hike and made it back down to the mountain hut to help with the milking. Turbo, my new friend, was waiting for us when we got back.

Drinking after a hard day's work.

After a few days on the mountains, we headed back to Bormio. A few years ago, when I first came to Bormio, Anna had planned to take me on "il trenino rosso" to St. Moritz. Being a fan of trains, I was very excited about this. However, a combination of a long day of cross country skiing and an extended time in the thermal baths at Bagni Vecchi caused me to fall ill, so we never got to St. Moritz. This time around, however, Anna suggested that we could go. Apparently it was expensive in Switzerland, and we didn't have an francs, so we had some sandwiches made at the grocery store before going, and then set out on "the little red train".

Ready to go! (too bad we didn't need them)

The Bernina Express, the part of the Swiss Railway that runs between Tirano in Italy and St. Moritz in Switzerland, is actually one of three railways in the world with a UNESCO World Hertiage stamp. It sounds silly, but once you ride it and see the views it's easy to understand why. The train zigzags up over 2000 meters to pass beneath the glaciers of Piz Bernina, the highest mountain in the Eastern Alps at 4,049 meters (13,284 ft). The day we went the weather was foggy (and rainy, and snowy) around the heights of Bernina, so we didn't get to see much of the peak itself, but I wasn't bothered. Actually, I was a bit relieved; during some parts of the journey I peered out the window and felt sickeningly dizzy at the sight of the abyss hidden by the fog directly below us. However, we did have some nice views from the train, as the weather cleared up in some spots and provided a few lovely panoramas. 

Miralago.

Loving it!

We're here!

When we got to St. Moritz, it was raining. Since we didn't have any francs, we ended up walking around the town for a few hours. There really isn't much to do in St. Moritz in the summer time, or if you're not rich. Most of the town consists of hotels and high-end shops. We strolled around window shopping for an hour, looking at the $10,000 shoes and wondering why rich people would spend so much on hideous jewelry. 

St. Moritz also has a leaning tower.

Grützi aus Schweiz.

Luckily, the weather cleared up later in the afternoon. There is a small lake at the base of the town, and we walked around it a few times and had lunch on its shores, soaking in the views of the surrounding mountains.

What better to have for lunch than Speck?

I'd never been to Switzerland before our trip on "Il trenino rosso", and I was only there for a few hours, but there are a couple of things I should note about Switzerland. First, I wonder how a country can be so clean and organized with four official languages. The Swiss can't seem to make up their mind about which language they prefer. I mean, their linguistic ability is impressive, but I feel sorry for the poor bastards having to learn all those languages and accommodate each other. In Graubunden I heard English, Italian, German, and Ladino both on the train overcom and around town. However, to my delight, no provisions were made for the French, despite it being the second national language.
Second, I must say that the Swiss are expert wood stackers. I've never seen firewood stacked so carefully and neatly in my life. This wood stacking prowess also extends down into the Italian Alps in the areas around Livigno, Bormio, and Tirano. Consequently, such wood stacking talent deserves a tip of the hat--I salute you.

The remainder of my midsummer holiday was spent in Bormio, indulgently feasting during the day and pub crawling at night. The final day, we went to the Terme and had a swim and a relaxing sit in the steam room before having an aperitivo and a nice dinner. It was the perfect way to end yet another picturesque Italian holiday.

On a final note, I'll sign off with a photo of the tasty snails I had one night out in Bormio. Delicious!!

Swimming in butter. Mmmm!!

Nice.

Trieste

We got the itch a few weeks ago, and while a quick search of Skyscanner found flights to Lamezia Terme, where our friend Roberto lives, to be too expensive, an 'aha' moment of mine revealed a bargain on flights to Trieste. So Saturday morning we packed a weekend bag, grabbed a book, and headed off to Stansted.
Now Trieste is no common tourist destination. In fact, the main reason we headed off there is because of Anna's strong connection to the place--she spent seven years there for university and as a result all of her friends are there, and it has become something of a second home for her, albeit one she never gets to visit. So after a two-hour continental flyover and a birdseye view of Venice, she was quite happy indeed to be back in Friuli Venezia Giulia, where her friend Cili was waiting for us at the airport.
The weather was gorgeous; clear and sunny and cool, nothing like the sweaty mess we left behind in London. On the way back from the airport, I rolled the window down and drank the cool, pine-scented sea air. Rolling into town along the coastal road, I immediately saw why Anna loved Trieste so much--it was a gem of a city, and a hidden one at that.

Trieste

After arriving in town, parking the car, and dumping the bag, we set out to take care of priority number one, the first thing we always do when going to Italy: sandwiches. If nothing else, the Italians do not fuck around when it comes to sandwiches (or any food, for that matter). So we found a little café around the corner, and I occupied myself with a mouthwatering prosciutto cotto sandwich and a shotglass of beer (here the Italians lose to the Brits) while Anna caught up with her growing entourage of friends. Incidentally, the day we arrived was not only her friend Mino's birthday, but also the annual "Cherry Festival". Trieste has a large Slovenian population in the surrounding mountain villages, and every year in May there is a festival celebrating the first cherry harvest. In the past the group of friends had gone every year, so naturally, we were going that evening.

So, a few hours later, we headed up into the hills to the Praznik Češenj ("cherry festival" in Slovenian, forgot what it is in Italian), which was in a quiet little village called Mačkolje. How cute, I thought. "I'm so hungry," Anna said as we walked up after parking the car. "They have these little sausages, civa, they're delicious." Good, I thought; that sandwich was only to hold me over for the main event, the Praznik, and I was starving.

The praznik, however, was a mob scene. Really, there must have been about 800 people queued up around the blazing, smoking grills. Oh boy. Rumor had it it was an hour's wait. Damn. Someone smart in the group had the brilliant idea that two of us would get in line to get the tickets, two would get in line for the meat, and two would get in line for the chips/cherries, and after the tickets were bought they would be passed off to those waiting in line, who would be near the front by the time the tickets were had. It was a good idea, but it still ended up being an hour's wait. And of course, Anna and I were in the meat line, which took the longest. I admit I was getting irritated being stuck in the crowd and tired of waiting, but as we got near the grill I felt more bad for the poor Slovenian folk working the grill, hot and sweaty and sooty smoke blasting into their faces.

In the end, we ended up waiting a while, but the food was delicious, and there was good beer and cherries for dessert, and we were all quite happy. And the sausages--tiny little things eaten with raw onion slices--were absolutely delicious. "You have to eat it with the onions," Cili said. "Eating čevapčiči without onions is like...." ....well, I'll leave it to your imagination.

Praznik Češenj

The next day I was up bright and early. I wanted to get out and see the town, but Anna was in no rush. Apparently, we were meeting the others at 11 for breakfast, but no one told me. Just because I can understand Italian doesn't always mean I'm listening. That's the only thing that bothers me about going to Italy is that Anna never tells me what we are doing. She just assumes I know what we are doing and I follow her, not knowing what we are doing. However, this particular morning I whined enough to get us some sightseeing time before breakfast.

I suppose it would be appropriate here to tell a little bit about Trieste. Two hundred odd years ago, Trieste lay within the realm of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. It was the Empire's only port city and as such was established as a free port. Naturally, it prospered, and the city expanded with much of the architecture taking after cities in the interior of the Empire. The Piazza Unità d'Italia, the main square, is the largest square in Europe with one side open to the sea. There are many piers, and the structures in the town center reflect Neoclassical, Baroque, Rococo, Romanesque, and Art-Nouveau styles of architecture. Put simply, it is absolutely charming, not simply due to the architecture, but because of the combination of old-Europe style winding streets and proximity to the sea. We managed to get a good stroll in along the pier and around the town center before breakfast.

 

Town Hall.

 

Pier bum.

Reminiscent of Venice?

After breakfast, we debated what to do for the rest of the day. The others had prior obligations, but Anna and Evelyn--one of Anna's best friends, who had visited us in Istanbul--were going to show me around. One thing I had wanted to do while in Trieste was to ride the Opicina tram. It seems a bit trivial, but the cause for this goes back a few weeks, when I helped Anna with a translation for the Friuli Venezia Giulia tourism board; we struggled to translate properly a bit about this Opicina tramway, mainly because of all the technical terms involved and the uniqueness of the tram line itself, and while we were successful, the end result felt a bit butchered. We didn't really understand it, and I insisted we go take this tram so I could clear up the obscure descriptions in the translation in my own mind, and to sate the train-loving child within me. Plus, the description promised good views of the city and surrounding gulf. Why not.

Opicina Tram

It was a good choice. Not only were the views good, but the tram was something of an antique as well. And the line itself was a bit of a curious, unique treasure. It turns out that the tram starts off on level ground and travels up a soft incline for a bit. Then, it attaches itself to some sort of tractor, which pulls the tram up a steep section of track by means of a cable. It kind of reminded me of an old carnival ride. Once on top of the incline, the tram detaches itself from the tractor and continues up into the hills above Trieste by itself. I know all this sounds a bit dull, but it really is quite a fun and charming experience. And it was good to understand how the line actually worked--really, it was nothing like the Italian description sent to Anna to translate. So I got peace of mind and lovely views to boot.

The steep bit.

Opicina.

Lovely View.

Back in Trieste, we walked up the hill to San Giusto, an old Roman forum and church. Some stoners played a monotonous tune on the bongos in the forum, and we climbed the bell tower for some magnificent views of the city.

 

San Giusto forum

We ended the day with an aperitivo (my favorite thing about Italy!) and a pizza dinner, followed by a trip to a character-filled bar for digestivi. Ahh Christ, if only I could do this every day.

 

 

 Sweet Gesu di prosciutto.

 

 

The next day Anna planned to take me north out of town to the coast, where there were a couple of castles and a lovely sea walk. It took a while to get there by bus, but we passed through several cute, quaint Slovene villages, any of which I would gladly retire to this instant and live out the remainder of my days gardening.
We got off somewhere off the main road and headed up through the forest to the coast path, which traversed the top of the sea cliffs. The coast along the northern Adriatic consists of high cliffs due to the geology of the area; here the Karst mountains with their sharp limestone formations meet the Adriatic, and the result is a vegetated moonlike landscape with hidden caves and sharp drops. Indeed, the edges of some rocks will cut you if you are not careful while climbing on them. It really is a unique mix of nature, and the views along the walk are to die for. Well, I'll let you see for yourself:

 

 

Duino Castle.

 

 

 

 

Further on, we took a bus to Castello di Miramare, built by Maximilian I about 150 years ago. The castle and the grounds are now a national park, due to the diverse flora and fauna found there, as well as the aforementioned Karst rock formations, which are extended into the sea here and create something of a unique marine environment for sea life. In addition to the picturesque grounds, the views here are fantastic as well, and although it wasn't particularly hot, the clarity of the water left me wanting to swim.

Castello di Miramare

 

Back in Trieste, we indulged in a sandwich and a caffé corretto (an absolutely wonderful beverage) and mosied around town for a while. Later, we went out for aperitivi with all of Anna's friends, and ate a midnight pasta dinner at Cili's apartment. Leaving everyone later that night, it was a heartfelt goodbye for Anna.

The next day our flight was at 3, so we were in no rush to get up. I woke up at 9 and turned to bother Anna as usual, when the bed started shaking softly.
"Do you feel the bed shaking?" I asked. The windchime in the hall began to tinkle, despite the windows being closed.
"Yes." I thought about the huge stone building we were in--not just an apartment building made of stone but a city block.
"That's an earthquake," I said. It shook for about 15 more seconds before it stopped. "That's an earthquake," I said, recalling the sensation I felt last summer on Fire Island as a result of the Virginia quake. "Ask your friends to check the news and see what happened. That was big somewhere." Turns out it was the most recent quake in Modena, over 300 km away from Trieste, which killed 16 and injured over 200. Big earthquake. Makes you realize how feeble everything is and how much we are at the mercy of nature. I feel bad for those who were on top of it.

In the airport, we had one last caffé (corretto for me:) before going home. I always say "Come on amore, andiamo in Italia!", but Anna says "Amore, Bormio is not Italy, you don't know Italy." Trieste may not be much more representative of Italy than Bormio, but it made me love Italy even more. I miss it.

 Ciao, ragazzi.