If You Don't Like Reading About Food, Don't Read This Italy Trip Report
Nov 29th, 2004, 06:37 AM
#41
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mp,
Yes, It's Cacio e Pepe in NYC, right in my neighborhood. Incredibly delicious and reasonably priced for the quality. The desserts are a little odd, though the new autumn dessert menu is slightly less odd. (The chef told me, "why do the same thing as everyone else?"
The chef is from Rome so you will get a real Italian experience there.
Yes, It's Cacio e Pepe in NYC, right in my neighborhood. Incredibly delicious and reasonably priced for the quality. The desserts are a little odd, though the new autumn dessert menu is slightly less odd. (The chef told me, "why do the same thing as everyone else?"
The chef is from Rome so you will get a real Italian experience there.
Nov 29th, 2004, 06:40 AM
#42
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DAY 8: Tuesday, 26 October 2004 - Cesena
At 7:30AM the sun has barely risen, the mist and fog still hang in the trees. I check my laundry, which seems hardly to have dried at all. Over breakfast we discuss today's quest: to retrieve R's new passport from the Questura in Forlí, the provincial capital.
A cautionary tale: Before I arrived in Cesena, R visited friends in Prague. Boarding the train for her return trip, she found her seat, placed her purse on the seat, turned to put her coat in the overhead rack, turned back to her seat, and her purse was gone. She had not seen anyone nearby before or after the snatching. The bag contained, among other things, her passport, eyeglasses, and train tickets. Fortunately she had worn a smaller purse under her sweater which contained some cash and her ATM card. She immediately left the train and reported the loss to the station police, then took their report to the Italian consulate (she already knew where it was). Fortunately she was able to obtain temporary ID without much delay and was back on a train with a new ticket four hours later. Unfortunately this train made two not-very-timely connections, but she made it home safely with only small losses. Moral of the story: Don't keep all your travel documents and credit cards together. Also, be prepared to deal with the unexpected.
We can feel the mist on our faces as we wait for the bus to Forlí. The ride takes about 30 minutes, stopping in a few small towns along the way. In the open spaces between towns, we pass fields of fruit trees as well as factories and a few larger shopping centers. Straight streets lined with impressive buildings lead to the centro storico and the large Piazza Saffi where the bus route ends.
Before heading through older winding streets to the Questura, we visit the 13 C. basilica of San Mercuriale just opposite the bus stop. It is considered the most important church in Forlí. The pure Romanesque architectural forms are beautiful, yet somehow the bare, brick interior seems too clean. No trace of the frecoes that would have decorated the interior of this restored church remain, though I find the simple forms of the columns and arches refreshing after the opulence of Rome. We attempt to use the English guidesheet provided, but the translation is so literal, so "babelfish," that we can't decipher its meaning. R takes a look at the Italian version and finds it almost as confounding. There is a nicely restored but ill-lit altarpiece in a side chapel. Sadly two small scenes at the bottom were stolen in 1985. We also stop at the duomo, a dark, gloomy baroque space that is mostly covered with scaffolding.
At the Questura, we go directly to the passport window on the ground floor. R gives her name and the official retrieves her passport from a stack on a shelf just behind him. We stroll back through town along different streets, stopping to examine the impressive clock tower near the Piazza Saffi. We find the Caffe Ceccarelli under the portici which line the piazza and stop for a break. It is still misty, perfect weather for a delightfully thick hot chocolate and a snack. The hot chocolate is like pudding. This cafe is the perfect spot to watch the locals come and go on their way home for lunch. We sit for table service and watch the parade, munching on our lunch of pastries.
We board a bus headed for Cesena full to the brim with high school students. Done for the day, they full of friendly comraderie, though not so friendly that they give us their seats. We're all squished together and the din of conversation is tremendous. By the time we reach Forlimpoli, the halfway point of the trip, all the students are gone. Cesena has its own high school so students needn't travel all the way to Forlí.
We spend a lazy afternoon at home, preparing for our six-hour train trip to Molfetta tomorrow. R's brother drives us to the Iper-Coop, a SuperWalmart type of store to make purchases for the trip. But this is still not Walmart; instead of stale cheese cubes, a woman is slicing samples of a delicious local salami. We search for ziplock sandwich bags, only to discover they don't seem to exist. We find zipper bags only for clothing storage, none for food storage. R had been intrigued by a few ziplocks I'd packed -- thus our search.
We take a detour up the hill overlooking Cesena to the monastery and visit the gallery of ex votos. Since the 1600s, people have commemorated a blessing or deliverance from God by painting a picture of the event and hanging it in the church. The incredible collection is arranged somewhat chronologically. It's amazing to see some of the earliest images showing ships like those of Columbus.
Over a dinner of delicious leftovers (and some of that salami we sampled) I learn the Italian saying: "Fatta la legge, trovato l'inganno." (Make the law, find the trick [loophole, scam].) R told me this saying in response to another, that there are now laws in Italy, just suggestions.
Tomorrow: Train Ride to Another Planet
At 7:30AM the sun has barely risen, the mist and fog still hang in the trees. I check my laundry, which seems hardly to have dried at all. Over breakfast we discuss today's quest: to retrieve R's new passport from the Questura in Forlí, the provincial capital.
A cautionary tale: Before I arrived in Cesena, R visited friends in Prague. Boarding the train for her return trip, she found her seat, placed her purse on the seat, turned to put her coat in the overhead rack, turned back to her seat, and her purse was gone. She had not seen anyone nearby before or after the snatching. The bag contained, among other things, her passport, eyeglasses, and train tickets. Fortunately she had worn a smaller purse under her sweater which contained some cash and her ATM card. She immediately left the train and reported the loss to the station police, then took their report to the Italian consulate (she already knew where it was). Fortunately she was able to obtain temporary ID without much delay and was back on a train with a new ticket four hours later. Unfortunately this train made two not-very-timely connections, but she made it home safely with only small losses. Moral of the story: Don't keep all your travel documents and credit cards together. Also, be prepared to deal with the unexpected.
We can feel the mist on our faces as we wait for the bus to Forlí. The ride takes about 30 minutes, stopping in a few small towns along the way. In the open spaces between towns, we pass fields of fruit trees as well as factories and a few larger shopping centers. Straight streets lined with impressive buildings lead to the centro storico and the large Piazza Saffi where the bus route ends.
Before heading through older winding streets to the Questura, we visit the 13 C. basilica of San Mercuriale just opposite the bus stop. It is considered the most important church in Forlí. The pure Romanesque architectural forms are beautiful, yet somehow the bare, brick interior seems too clean. No trace of the frecoes that would have decorated the interior of this restored church remain, though I find the simple forms of the columns and arches refreshing after the opulence of Rome. We attempt to use the English guidesheet provided, but the translation is so literal, so "babelfish," that we can't decipher its meaning. R takes a look at the Italian version and finds it almost as confounding. There is a nicely restored but ill-lit altarpiece in a side chapel. Sadly two small scenes at the bottom were stolen in 1985. We also stop at the duomo, a dark, gloomy baroque space that is mostly covered with scaffolding.
At the Questura, we go directly to the passport window on the ground floor. R gives her name and the official retrieves her passport from a stack on a shelf just behind him. We stroll back through town along different streets, stopping to examine the impressive clock tower near the Piazza Saffi. We find the Caffe Ceccarelli under the portici which line the piazza and stop for a break. It is still misty, perfect weather for a delightfully thick hot chocolate and a snack. The hot chocolate is like pudding. This cafe is the perfect spot to watch the locals come and go on their way home for lunch. We sit for table service and watch the parade, munching on our lunch of pastries.
We board a bus headed for Cesena full to the brim with high school students. Done for the day, they full of friendly comraderie, though not so friendly that they give us their seats. We're all squished together and the din of conversation is tremendous. By the time we reach Forlimpoli, the halfway point of the trip, all the students are gone. Cesena has its own high school so students needn't travel all the way to Forlí.
We spend a lazy afternoon at home, preparing for our six-hour train trip to Molfetta tomorrow. R's brother drives us to the Iper-Coop, a SuperWalmart type of store to make purchases for the trip. But this is still not Walmart; instead of stale cheese cubes, a woman is slicing samples of a delicious local salami. We search for ziplock sandwich bags, only to discover they don't seem to exist. We find zipper bags only for clothing storage, none for food storage. R had been intrigued by a few ziplocks I'd packed -- thus our search.
We take a detour up the hill overlooking Cesena to the monastery and visit the gallery of ex votos. Since the 1600s, people have commemorated a blessing or deliverance from God by painting a picture of the event and hanging it in the church. The incredible collection is arranged somewhat chronologically. It's amazing to see some of the earliest images showing ships like those of Columbus.
Over a dinner of delicious leftovers (and some of that salami we sampled) I learn the Italian saying: "Fatta la legge, trovato l'inganno." (Make the law, find the trick [loophole, scam].) R told me this saying in response to another, that there are now laws in Italy, just suggestions.
Tomorrow: Train Ride to Another Planet
Nov 29th, 2004, 06:41 AM
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DAY 9: Wednesday, 27 October 2004 - Molfetta
The sun is finally shining in Cesena as we pack and prepare panini and carrot sticks for our trip south. While we could take an ES train, we would have to wait an hour to connect to another train, so we'd reserve seats on an IC train. The trip will take the same amount of time and we won't have to change trains.
There are two other travelers in our first-class compartment when we depart Cesena. Our companions change during the trip, and for most of the trip we have the compartment to ourselves. The view changes along the way. First, I finally see the rolling hills of Romagna that had been hidden by fog for days. Soon after Rimini we parallel the coast and pass through many seaside resort towns. Eventually the train tracks are right next to the beach. As we travel further south, the beach narrows, with water almost lapping the side of the train at times. For a while in Le Marche, we are among rolling hills and pass through long tunnels. Eventually the terrain flattens. Though we can see the Apennines in the distance, flat farmland surrounds us as we move inland to bypass the Gargano peninsula. As the sun sets bright red to one side, we head straight into an ominous rainstorm. Fortunately we pass through after just a few miles and arrive dry in Molfetta.
R assures me that though Molfetta is a town of 60,000, it is untouristed -- just locals and family visitors. While it is a port, it has no beach. We drag our suitcases through the dark streets toward the older part of town. Developed around the time of World War I, the buildings in this neighborhood all look the same and not all the streets are marked. After unlocking our street door, we climb one steep flight and the tricky unlocking begins.
R's great-grandfather bought this apartment when it was new. Her grandmother lived here till she died. Her mother was raised here. While most other apartments in the building have been modernized, grandma made few improvements. Since grandma's death in the early 1970s, the apartment has been used as a weekend getaway - still not modernized. From the hallway, we unlock a gate that leads onto an L-shaped terrace in a courtyard. Three sets of french doors (heavily shuttered and barred) lead from the terrace into the apartment. R fiddles with the first door, which is missing one of the glass doors. Since both the glass exterior doors and the interior shutters swing in, it is impossible to lock the doors. (In the past I guess the gate was considered security enough but no longer.) Whenever R?s family finishes their visit, one glass door is removed and left inside so they can shut and lock the interior shutters.
Once inside R must find her way through the pitch-black (shutters closed) apartment to main power switch to turn on the electricity. I've packed a flashlight and find it quickly to help her along. Looming out of the darkness I spy huge, aged furniture, glass cabinets, and a few too many saints under glass. The ceilings are high, domed, and painted with interesting details. Stepping up on a chair, R switches on the electricity, then the kitchen light, a single clear, bare bulb.
It is 100 years ago in Italy. A small stone sink to the right of the door has a single spigot over it. Next to it, a minuscule closet holds the original toilet no longer in use (with room for little else, including the person using it). Opposite, a stone counter has a shallow depression and drain board but no drain or spigot. R admits she has no idea of its use, though now a two-burner propane hotplate sits on it. Next to it is an aged wooden table with a slab of stone set on top. Next to that is an amazing cooking center: a large old-fashioned tiled range with small doors in the lower front to add fuel to heat each section. On top a large copper pot is set almost flush with the counter for heating perhaps 15 gallons of water at a time. Next to that is a stove burner, then the oven, then another stove burner. Crammed into the opposite corner is a small WC with antique commode and a small reasonably-new sink, again with a single spigot. Yes, it's true. Since the range is no longer operational, we have no shower, no hot water. R flips a switch to turn on the water.
We pass through the other rooms, removing dust covers and unbarring windows. The dining room connects to one bedroom, which connects to another, which fronts on the street. The dark furniture lining the walls seem massive, the beds miniscule. Single bare bulbs offer light on glass cabinets full of books printed before I was born. R scurries about opening windows and wiping marble tops. Padlocks and barriers removed, the breeze blows through and freshens the old air. I concentrate on the interesting floors and painted ceiling details; the many 18-inch-tall saints that stare out from bell jars are unsettling. There are seven saints in my room alone, not to mention the saintly pictures on the wall. I've seen too many creepy movies not to be unsettled by the blank stares. Or the closet door my swaybacked bed is pushed against. I imagine a skeletal arm reaching out from it in the night. Yikes...perhaps it would have been better to arrive in the daylight.
On our way out in search of dinner, we stop to greet the neighbors across the landing. Through the doorway, I spy modern, bright accommodations. Hmmm... It's just about 8:00PM and the passegiata is in full swing as we walk down main street. The street is closed to traffic and lined with carefully trimmed oleanders and stylish shops. Families old and young stroll together, many eating gelato and window-shopping. At the bottom of the street is a large park, the Villa, named for the villa that once stood there. It is a center of activity, with a small rubber-tired train for children that circles the park as well as a playground and even carousel across the street.
We reach R's favorite pizzeria to discover it is closed. Under the arches of the old town wall we find a place that's open: Ristorante Isola di San Andrea (Via Dante 98). The owner seems a bit smarmy at first, but soon we realize he is sincere and proud of his place. While the menu features about six choices in each course, the owner tells us what he actually has, which is more limited. We both choose strozzapreti with mushrooms and mussels, which is surprisingly tasty. Then we have two different types of fish very simply grilled with oil, salt, and a few herbs. The triglie (red mullet) arrives whole, one for each of us. Though a bit bony, it is deliciously fresh and sweet. One saraga (some white flesh fish) is split between us. For food, a liter of water, no servizio included, the cost is 35.00 euro. It is cheaper in the south.
After dinner we stroll by the water. The sea and sky are black and the streetlights are extremely bright, almost like Times Square. R tells me the amusing story: some friend of someone in power got the contract to replace the streetlights - and installed three times the number of lights needed on BOTH sides of the street. The posts are so large they make it impossible to use the sidewalk at points. Ridiculous. Though by the water, this is not a busy street. R's cousin lives here and must keep her shutters closed after dark to avoid the harsh glare.
We walk home and do some more arranging. I eye the closet door suspiciously as I climb into bed, bidding the saints good night.
Sweet dreams, I hope.
Tomorrow: The Best Breakfast Ever.
The sun is finally shining in Cesena as we pack and prepare panini and carrot sticks for our trip south. While we could take an ES train, we would have to wait an hour to connect to another train, so we'd reserve seats on an IC train. The trip will take the same amount of time and we won't have to change trains.
There are two other travelers in our first-class compartment when we depart Cesena. Our companions change during the trip, and for most of the trip we have the compartment to ourselves. The view changes along the way. First, I finally see the rolling hills of Romagna that had been hidden by fog for days. Soon after Rimini we parallel the coast and pass through many seaside resort towns. Eventually the train tracks are right next to the beach. As we travel further south, the beach narrows, with water almost lapping the side of the train at times. For a while in Le Marche, we are among rolling hills and pass through long tunnels. Eventually the terrain flattens. Though we can see the Apennines in the distance, flat farmland surrounds us as we move inland to bypass the Gargano peninsula. As the sun sets bright red to one side, we head straight into an ominous rainstorm. Fortunately we pass through after just a few miles and arrive dry in Molfetta.
R assures me that though Molfetta is a town of 60,000, it is untouristed -- just locals and family visitors. While it is a port, it has no beach. We drag our suitcases through the dark streets toward the older part of town. Developed around the time of World War I, the buildings in this neighborhood all look the same and not all the streets are marked. After unlocking our street door, we climb one steep flight and the tricky unlocking begins.
R's great-grandfather bought this apartment when it was new. Her grandmother lived here till she died. Her mother was raised here. While most other apartments in the building have been modernized, grandma made few improvements. Since grandma's death in the early 1970s, the apartment has been used as a weekend getaway - still not modernized. From the hallway, we unlock a gate that leads onto an L-shaped terrace in a courtyard. Three sets of french doors (heavily shuttered and barred) lead from the terrace into the apartment. R fiddles with the first door, which is missing one of the glass doors. Since both the glass exterior doors and the interior shutters swing in, it is impossible to lock the doors. (In the past I guess the gate was considered security enough but no longer.) Whenever R?s family finishes their visit, one glass door is removed and left inside so they can shut and lock the interior shutters.
Once inside R must find her way through the pitch-black (shutters closed) apartment to main power switch to turn on the electricity. I've packed a flashlight and find it quickly to help her along. Looming out of the darkness I spy huge, aged furniture, glass cabinets, and a few too many saints under glass. The ceilings are high, domed, and painted with interesting details. Stepping up on a chair, R switches on the electricity, then the kitchen light, a single clear, bare bulb.
It is 100 years ago in Italy. A small stone sink to the right of the door has a single spigot over it. Next to it, a minuscule closet holds the original toilet no longer in use (with room for little else, including the person using it). Opposite, a stone counter has a shallow depression and drain board but no drain or spigot. R admits she has no idea of its use, though now a two-burner propane hotplate sits on it. Next to it is an aged wooden table with a slab of stone set on top. Next to that is an amazing cooking center: a large old-fashioned tiled range with small doors in the lower front to add fuel to heat each section. On top a large copper pot is set almost flush with the counter for heating perhaps 15 gallons of water at a time. Next to that is a stove burner, then the oven, then another stove burner. Crammed into the opposite corner is a small WC with antique commode and a small reasonably-new sink, again with a single spigot. Yes, it's true. Since the range is no longer operational, we have no shower, no hot water. R flips a switch to turn on the water.
We pass through the other rooms, removing dust covers and unbarring windows. The dining room connects to one bedroom, which connects to another, which fronts on the street. The dark furniture lining the walls seem massive, the beds miniscule. Single bare bulbs offer light on glass cabinets full of books printed before I was born. R scurries about opening windows and wiping marble tops. Padlocks and barriers removed, the breeze blows through and freshens the old air. I concentrate on the interesting floors and painted ceiling details; the many 18-inch-tall saints that stare out from bell jars are unsettling. There are seven saints in my room alone, not to mention the saintly pictures on the wall. I've seen too many creepy movies not to be unsettled by the blank stares. Or the closet door my swaybacked bed is pushed against. I imagine a skeletal arm reaching out from it in the night. Yikes...perhaps it would have been better to arrive in the daylight.
On our way out in search of dinner, we stop to greet the neighbors across the landing. Through the doorway, I spy modern, bright accommodations. Hmmm... It's just about 8:00PM and the passegiata is in full swing as we walk down main street. The street is closed to traffic and lined with carefully trimmed oleanders and stylish shops. Families old and young stroll together, many eating gelato and window-shopping. At the bottom of the street is a large park, the Villa, named for the villa that once stood there. It is a center of activity, with a small rubber-tired train for children that circles the park as well as a playground and even carousel across the street.
We reach R's favorite pizzeria to discover it is closed. Under the arches of the old town wall we find a place that's open: Ristorante Isola di San Andrea (Via Dante 98). The owner seems a bit smarmy at first, but soon we realize he is sincere and proud of his place. While the menu features about six choices in each course, the owner tells us what he actually has, which is more limited. We both choose strozzapreti with mushrooms and mussels, which is surprisingly tasty. Then we have two different types of fish very simply grilled with oil, salt, and a few herbs. The triglie (red mullet) arrives whole, one for each of us. Though a bit bony, it is deliciously fresh and sweet. One saraga (some white flesh fish) is split between us. For food, a liter of water, no servizio included, the cost is 35.00 euro. It is cheaper in the south.
After dinner we stroll by the water. The sea and sky are black and the streetlights are extremely bright, almost like Times Square. R tells me the amusing story: some friend of someone in power got the contract to replace the streetlights - and installed three times the number of lights needed on BOTH sides of the street. The posts are so large they make it impossible to use the sidewalk at points. Ridiculous. Though by the water, this is not a busy street. R's cousin lives here and must keep her shutters closed after dark to avoid the harsh glare.
We walk home and do some more arranging. I eye the closet door suspiciously as I climb into bed, bidding the saints good night.
Sweet dreams, I hope.
Tomorrow: The Best Breakfast Ever.
Nov 29th, 2004, 01:23 PM
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DAY 10: Thursday, 28 October 2004 - Molfetta
The narrow, hammock-like bed made sleep a challenge at first, but eventually I managed it...and no odd dreams considering my roommates.
I am reminded of college days as I try to wash. A college roommate dubbed her quick morning wash a "circus bath" (instead of surface bath). My washing up was indeed a circus bath. I struggle to wash and not drip too much on the floor. It is inevitable: one hand splashes a body part to rinse, while cold water drips down that forearm and onto the floor and toes, since the sink is too small to catch both the dripping water as well as the soapy water dripping from the washed body part. All this attempted with cold though not icy water. I even dunk my head briefly under the spigot. I begin to think longingly of the small, well-equipped bathroom in Rome. We dress quickly and head out for provisions.
Across the street we stop at the local bar for cappuccino and croissants, a quick breakfast. Next we head to the local grocer R prefers. We stock up on fresh mozzarella knots, milk, and a cheese called burrata. In a bare storefront across the street, a local grower sells his own produce. We choose freshly-picked mandarin and navel oranges. We stop at the house for second breakfast. R says I must try the burrata and serves me a huge portion. It is a revelation. Imagine the freshest, softest mozzarella you have ever eaten, except the center is still liquid, composed of soft curds and cream. (Even after it is refrigerated, it does not solidify.) The oranges cleanse our palate for the next course.
We hit the streets again to get to the bread store before the best bread is gone. The streets are lined with cream-colored buildings, almost all with the same medium-green shutters. R says that locals call it "Molfetta green." As we enter Panificio Spigo I am struck by an amazing smell. I stand and breathe as R places our order. We watch as a focaccia is removed from the oven. The baker cuts it in quarters, bags three quarters for us, cuts the last quarter in half and gives us each a half. We stand outside on the street and can do little more than mumble our amazement through bites of heaven. Warm bread, olive oil, salt, oregano, and warm fresh tomatoes ? a magnificent third breakfast. We reach the waterfront and lean against the seawall munching and mumbling our delight.
We walk along the waterfront dodging those silly lampposts. Reaching the centro antico we decide to explore. The centro antico was once an island, the Isola di San Andrea (last night's restaurant namesake) connected to the mainland at only one point. Even today there are only two entrances to this warren of streets. Left derelict for many years, the homes are either falling down or newly renovated, as the area is becoming fashionable and gentrified. We visit a public building that has an art installation and access to an ancient tower overlooking the water. The view is beautiful on this sunny day. Inside the caretakers are chatty, pleased to hear that I am from NYC. One informs me that perhaps one quarter of the population of Molfetta moved to Hoboken, New Jersey, across the Hudson River from NYC. R admits that even she has an uncle who moved there. As I sign the guest book, I notice all Italian names before mine, though a few listing Hoboken as home.
We just miss the open hours at the main cathedral, and so head home. I'm surprised to see that many people live in ground floor apartments, leaving their doors open to the street. Even more odd, since they have no terrace for the purpose, they set up their laundry racks right on the sidewalk or in the street if there is no sidewalk. Most tie the racks to their front doorknob so passing cars won't knock them over. We stop at a different bakery to purchase some prepared dishes for our meals. The hot plate and few pots will make cooking at home a challenge. Our lunch: eggplant involtini in tomato sauce and, guess what, more cheese - this time delicious fresh mozzarella knots. I confess, we have more burrata, too.
This is a town that shuts up tight at 1:00PM so we stay in and relax, reading and writing postcards, doing a little more cleaning. Later we check train schedules for our daytrip to Bari. Then we join the passegiata and sit for a while in the Villa, enjoying the excited children riding the little train and running from place to place. R points out an innocuous ice cream stand, San Marco, just outside the park. Someone told her it is the best in town. She is skeptical, but the crowd that comes and goes encourages us to give it a try. R: chocolate and bignolata (vanilla with crisp pastry bits and caramel); E: chocolate and croccante with rum. Very good - I'm in love with the croccante - and half the price of any gelato I've had so far.
We return to the centro antico, this time exploring different streets in the dark. We check bus schedules and buy tickets for our trip to Trani later in the week. Whenever I speak English on the street, heads turn. It is an odd sensation. At the only cinema in town, we notice a new movie is opening the next night so we plan to go. R tells me that movie theaters are closing all over Italy, losing business to VCRs and cable TV. Many theaters have closed, even in the center of Florence. This is the last remaining theater open in Molfetta, and it has been restored. (Just a few years ago it was a XXX theater.) Now it shows first run films on a limited schedule.
We have a light dinner of, guess what, more cheese and focaccia. Then to bed since we want to catch an early train to Bari tomorrow.
Tomorrow: Daytrip to Bari
The narrow, hammock-like bed made sleep a challenge at first, but eventually I managed it...and no odd dreams considering my roommates.
I am reminded of college days as I try to wash. A college roommate dubbed her quick morning wash a "circus bath" (instead of surface bath). My washing up was indeed a circus bath. I struggle to wash and not drip too much on the floor. It is inevitable: one hand splashes a body part to rinse, while cold water drips down that forearm and onto the floor and toes, since the sink is too small to catch both the dripping water as well as the soapy water dripping from the washed body part. All this attempted with cold though not icy water. I even dunk my head briefly under the spigot. I begin to think longingly of the small, well-equipped bathroom in Rome. We dress quickly and head out for provisions.
Across the street we stop at the local bar for cappuccino and croissants, a quick breakfast. Next we head to the local grocer R prefers. We stock up on fresh mozzarella knots, milk, and a cheese called burrata. In a bare storefront across the street, a local grower sells his own produce. We choose freshly-picked mandarin and navel oranges. We stop at the house for second breakfast. R says I must try the burrata and serves me a huge portion. It is a revelation. Imagine the freshest, softest mozzarella you have ever eaten, except the center is still liquid, composed of soft curds and cream. (Even after it is refrigerated, it does not solidify.) The oranges cleanse our palate for the next course.
We hit the streets again to get to the bread store before the best bread is gone. The streets are lined with cream-colored buildings, almost all with the same medium-green shutters. R says that locals call it "Molfetta green." As we enter Panificio Spigo I am struck by an amazing smell. I stand and breathe as R places our order. We watch as a focaccia is removed from the oven. The baker cuts it in quarters, bags three quarters for us, cuts the last quarter in half and gives us each a half. We stand outside on the street and can do little more than mumble our amazement through bites of heaven. Warm bread, olive oil, salt, oregano, and warm fresh tomatoes ? a magnificent third breakfast. We reach the waterfront and lean against the seawall munching and mumbling our delight.
We walk along the waterfront dodging those silly lampposts. Reaching the centro antico we decide to explore. The centro antico was once an island, the Isola di San Andrea (last night's restaurant namesake) connected to the mainland at only one point. Even today there are only two entrances to this warren of streets. Left derelict for many years, the homes are either falling down or newly renovated, as the area is becoming fashionable and gentrified. We visit a public building that has an art installation and access to an ancient tower overlooking the water. The view is beautiful on this sunny day. Inside the caretakers are chatty, pleased to hear that I am from NYC. One informs me that perhaps one quarter of the population of Molfetta moved to Hoboken, New Jersey, across the Hudson River from NYC. R admits that even she has an uncle who moved there. As I sign the guest book, I notice all Italian names before mine, though a few listing Hoboken as home.
We just miss the open hours at the main cathedral, and so head home. I'm surprised to see that many people live in ground floor apartments, leaving their doors open to the street. Even more odd, since they have no terrace for the purpose, they set up their laundry racks right on the sidewalk or in the street if there is no sidewalk. Most tie the racks to their front doorknob so passing cars won't knock them over. We stop at a different bakery to purchase some prepared dishes for our meals. The hot plate and few pots will make cooking at home a challenge. Our lunch: eggplant involtini in tomato sauce and, guess what, more cheese - this time delicious fresh mozzarella knots. I confess, we have more burrata, too.
This is a town that shuts up tight at 1:00PM so we stay in and relax, reading and writing postcards, doing a little more cleaning. Later we check train schedules for our daytrip to Bari. Then we join the passegiata and sit for a while in the Villa, enjoying the excited children riding the little train and running from place to place. R points out an innocuous ice cream stand, San Marco, just outside the park. Someone told her it is the best in town. She is skeptical, but the crowd that comes and goes encourages us to give it a try. R: chocolate and bignolata (vanilla with crisp pastry bits and caramel); E: chocolate and croccante with rum. Very good - I'm in love with the croccante - and half the price of any gelato I've had so far.
We return to the centro antico, this time exploring different streets in the dark. We check bus schedules and buy tickets for our trip to Trani later in the week. Whenever I speak English on the street, heads turn. It is an odd sensation. At the only cinema in town, we notice a new movie is opening the next night so we plan to go. R tells me that movie theaters are closing all over Italy, losing business to VCRs and cable TV. Many theaters have closed, even in the center of Florence. This is the last remaining theater open in Molfetta, and it has been restored. (Just a few years ago it was a XXX theater.) Now it shows first run films on a limited schedule.
We have a light dinner of, guess what, more cheese and focaccia. Then to bed since we want to catch an early train to Bari tomorrow.
Tomorrow: Daytrip to Bari
Nov 30th, 2004, 03:00 PM
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Thank you for your posts! I am asking my fiance to read this as "homework" for our honeymoon (week in Tuscany, week in Rome)...It is hard for me to put into words the delights of true Italian food - now I don't have to! My favorite part is your mention of your gelato flavors.
Nov 30th, 2004, 06:17 PM
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ellenem, yes I rather did gather that you loved Italy too. And what is there not to love, even with aggervations?
BTW , Circus bath, surface bath, my nonna called it a "nuns bath". Giggled over your description about this bath. Although having been through the same scenerio know it is not amuzing at the time.
Enjoying every sentence of your report truly. And waiting for your daytrip to Bari! Take good care.
BTW , Circus bath, surface bath, my nonna called it a "nuns bath". Giggled over your description about this bath. Although having been through the same scenerio know it is not amuzing at the time.
Enjoying every sentence of your report truly. And waiting for your daytrip to Bari! Take good care.
Dec 2nd, 2004, 05:49 AM
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Hoping you're all still enjoying the descriptions of everyday life in Italy...
DAY 11: Friday, 29 October 2004 - Molfetta/Bari
Considering Molfetta is such a quiet town, the array of noises in the night is astounding. Completely constructed from hard materials - cement, stone, plaster, and tile - any sound reverberates for all to hear. The stair hall and interior courtyard are particularly efficient sound conductors. Most of the uninsulated plumbing pipes are mounted on the courtyard wall. Thus, the entire building must be aware that the family on the second floor back came in quite late, and the gentleman on the second floor front was quite sick last night. Someone somewhere is fond of wind chimes. Someone has left a shutter loose to rattle in the gusting wind. The new baby next door wants a 2:00AM feeding. Every shower or flush can be noted.
We set alarms to ensure we would get to Bari in time to enter all the churches before midday closing. I actually wash my hair, a quick wash and rinse under the spigot. When I tell R, she comments that she doesn't think she could stand to use the cold water on her head. I think she's waiting until she can stop by her cousin's house for a warm bath. I'm happy to have focaccia and fruit for breakfast. Even a day later, it is still delicious.
We plan to take the 9:01AM Regionale train to Bari. We are arrive at the station about 10 minutes ahead and soon hear announcements that the train is 10 minutes late, then 15 minutes late. Now we can choose: our slower Regionale train or the faster 9:14AM Expresso, whichever might end up arriving first. A crowd gathers on the platform, including many students and business people. The Espresso is first to arrive and it's a good thing the trip takes only 15 minutes. Everyone gets on this train and we are packed like sardines in the hallways with all the students. Very noisy and truly impossible to move or fit another person.
We want to concentrate our visit on Bari Vecchia, the old mazelike part of town that makes up just a tiny portion of the otherwise modern city. From the train station, it's an easy walk on wide tree-lined streets through a modern shopping district. A wide avenue and park forms the barrier between the modern grid and the ancient maze. The map provided by the tourist information kiosk is poor. We're glad R brought along a small guidebook sponsored by some local businesses.
Unlike the old town of Molfetta, Bari Vecchia has always been occupied. The streets are mazelike, twisting, turning, passing under many arches. Often subject to invasion, it is said that Bari was planned to confuse all but the locals. This is the first time that R has warned me about pickpockets and crime. She names some of those organized-crime-family names and speaks of violent crime and murder. But we our walking these narrow streets on a pristine blue-sky day, so it hardly seems possible. R comments that Bari Vecchia is a very different world even from the rest of Bari. Certainly it seems as if everyone knows everyone else in the neighborhood, and everyone watches the few tourists. We notice many neighborhood altars (even R comments on the large number) at almost every corner and turn, decorated with fresh flowers and saluted by older passersby.
The duomo is closed, the interior covered entirely with scaffolding. We enjoy the 12 C. Romanesque details on the façade. While the façade is mostly flat, there's a nice nave rose window with interesting columns, elephants, and other animals. We follow our guidebook, trying to visit a few other churches, though most are closed and are never open anymore. We search for one only to discover that the floor and few columns are all that remain. The guidebook began pretty well, but about halfway through the English translation goes haywire. Even R laughs when we read: "At the end of the street, the entire body is suspended above." Poor choice of words, meant to indicate that a church complex extends to the water. I guess I shouldn't laugh - I have a hard time with Italian prepositions, too.
The Church of San Nicola (yes, that St Nicholas) is open and pristinely restored. Again I am struck by the fact that is seems a bit too clean. There are a few other visitors, perhaps a dozen or so. In the crypt, a small Orthodox group is worshipping by the grave of St Nicola. The leader's chant is lovely, and the response of the four worshippers quite touching. Too bad some workmen are ripping apart a stone wall not 10 feet away, never pausing during the service. The façade is similar to the duomo. I'm beginning to understand the language of Romanesque cathedrals. We stroll more streets, stopping to look at a few historic piazzas. We sit under the trees in front of the Castello and watch a busload of Japanese tourists get off the bus, take a few pictures, and get back on the bus.
R had asked her niece for a lunch choice, since she doesn't like to eat out without a recommendation. We head back to the straight wide streets and Ai Due Ghiottoni (Via Putignani, 11). A good fish restaurant, as you enter there is one of the most impressive displays of fresh fish I've ever seen. However, I'm not big on eating eels or barnacles, so they leaves out a number of choices. Ai Due Ghiottoni has pretensions of being a fancy place, but fell apart on service. The waiters are brusque, assuming everyone has come to have their extensive antipasti menus. (They offer one of cheeses and vegetables for 13 euro and one that also includes seafood for 16 euro.) No one explains how it works, even when we ask; the waiters practically tell us what they have, not offering choices. Once our food arrives, the waiters disappear, losing the opportunity to sell us more food. Yes, they are busy, but other groups get plenty of attention. We ask about dessert and the waiter's halfhearted verbal listing doesn't include a number of choices we can see on the dessert cart across the room.
Anyway, the food we did have is good -it is just the service that is so disappointing. This place would be a good place for a larger group to have the antipasti menus - plate after plate of vegetables, wheels of cheese, ham, fried things, olives, fish. We however choose risotto al mare for primi and a frita mista of triglie and seppie for secondi. Both are very good. Too bad about the service. For food, a liter of water, no servizio included, 1 coffee, the cost is 54.00 euro.
Back to Molfetta in the late afternoon, we relax and then shop for a few more provisions. The grocer has saved us a burrata - still as good as the first. I also try the taralle, a pretzel-like twist of crispness flavored with fennel. These are the particular taralle of Molfetta shaped like a elongated Q - I vow to bring a bag home. After a quick nosh of tomatoes, cheese, and grapes we go to the cinema. R wanted to go to the cinema right away, arriving in the middle of the film. She explained that she likes to arrive in the middle of the story and try to figure out what's going on. Then she stays through the end and the beginning until she reaches the point where she came in, then leaves. I protest that I like to see movies from beginning to end, especially in a foreign language. We wait for the beginning (and I find R to be an even more interesting person because of this interesting viewpoint).
What movie is playing in this small town? "Shall We Dance" with Richard Gere and Susan Sarandon, dubbed into Italian of course. The theater has stadium chairs which are high-backed, but the floor is that of a normal theater, so the headrests actually make it difficult to see the screen. I spend most of the film sitting with neck held high. There are about 20 people for the Friday-night 7;30PM show. My Italian is not great - my food vocabulary is excellent, but following conversation in a moving is a challenge. Fortunately, the story is transparent enough to be easy to follow (plus I saw the Japanese original). Most surprising, the projector is stopped in the middle of the movie for a three-minute intermission. R says this always happens. R enjoyed the film and explained the best jokes that I hadn't understood over a late-evening snack.
Tomorrow: Daytrip to Trani
DAY 11: Friday, 29 October 2004 - Molfetta/Bari
Considering Molfetta is such a quiet town, the array of noises in the night is astounding. Completely constructed from hard materials - cement, stone, plaster, and tile - any sound reverberates for all to hear. The stair hall and interior courtyard are particularly efficient sound conductors. Most of the uninsulated plumbing pipes are mounted on the courtyard wall. Thus, the entire building must be aware that the family on the second floor back came in quite late, and the gentleman on the second floor front was quite sick last night. Someone somewhere is fond of wind chimes. Someone has left a shutter loose to rattle in the gusting wind. The new baby next door wants a 2:00AM feeding. Every shower or flush can be noted.
We set alarms to ensure we would get to Bari in time to enter all the churches before midday closing. I actually wash my hair, a quick wash and rinse under the spigot. When I tell R, she comments that she doesn't think she could stand to use the cold water on her head. I think she's waiting until she can stop by her cousin's house for a warm bath. I'm happy to have focaccia and fruit for breakfast. Even a day later, it is still delicious.
We plan to take the 9:01AM Regionale train to Bari. We are arrive at the station about 10 minutes ahead and soon hear announcements that the train is 10 minutes late, then 15 minutes late. Now we can choose: our slower Regionale train or the faster 9:14AM Expresso, whichever might end up arriving first. A crowd gathers on the platform, including many students and business people. The Espresso is first to arrive and it's a good thing the trip takes only 15 minutes. Everyone gets on this train and we are packed like sardines in the hallways with all the students. Very noisy and truly impossible to move or fit another person.
We want to concentrate our visit on Bari Vecchia, the old mazelike part of town that makes up just a tiny portion of the otherwise modern city. From the train station, it's an easy walk on wide tree-lined streets through a modern shopping district. A wide avenue and park forms the barrier between the modern grid and the ancient maze. The map provided by the tourist information kiosk is poor. We're glad R brought along a small guidebook sponsored by some local businesses.
Unlike the old town of Molfetta, Bari Vecchia has always been occupied. The streets are mazelike, twisting, turning, passing under many arches. Often subject to invasion, it is said that Bari was planned to confuse all but the locals. This is the first time that R has warned me about pickpockets and crime. She names some of those organized-crime-family names and speaks of violent crime and murder. But we our walking these narrow streets on a pristine blue-sky day, so it hardly seems possible. R comments that Bari Vecchia is a very different world even from the rest of Bari. Certainly it seems as if everyone knows everyone else in the neighborhood, and everyone watches the few tourists. We notice many neighborhood altars (even R comments on the large number) at almost every corner and turn, decorated with fresh flowers and saluted by older passersby.
The duomo is closed, the interior covered entirely with scaffolding. We enjoy the 12 C. Romanesque details on the façade. While the façade is mostly flat, there's a nice nave rose window with interesting columns, elephants, and other animals. We follow our guidebook, trying to visit a few other churches, though most are closed and are never open anymore. We search for one only to discover that the floor and few columns are all that remain. The guidebook began pretty well, but about halfway through the English translation goes haywire. Even R laughs when we read: "At the end of the street, the entire body is suspended above." Poor choice of words, meant to indicate that a church complex extends to the water. I guess I shouldn't laugh - I have a hard time with Italian prepositions, too.
The Church of San Nicola (yes, that St Nicholas) is open and pristinely restored. Again I am struck by the fact that is seems a bit too clean. There are a few other visitors, perhaps a dozen or so. In the crypt, a small Orthodox group is worshipping by the grave of St Nicola. The leader's chant is lovely, and the response of the four worshippers quite touching. Too bad some workmen are ripping apart a stone wall not 10 feet away, never pausing during the service. The façade is similar to the duomo. I'm beginning to understand the language of Romanesque cathedrals. We stroll more streets, stopping to look at a few historic piazzas. We sit under the trees in front of the Castello and watch a busload of Japanese tourists get off the bus, take a few pictures, and get back on the bus.
R had asked her niece for a lunch choice, since she doesn't like to eat out without a recommendation. We head back to the straight wide streets and Ai Due Ghiottoni (Via Putignani, 11). A good fish restaurant, as you enter there is one of the most impressive displays of fresh fish I've ever seen. However, I'm not big on eating eels or barnacles, so they leaves out a number of choices. Ai Due Ghiottoni has pretensions of being a fancy place, but fell apart on service. The waiters are brusque, assuming everyone has come to have their extensive antipasti menus. (They offer one of cheeses and vegetables for 13 euro and one that also includes seafood for 16 euro.) No one explains how it works, even when we ask; the waiters practically tell us what they have, not offering choices. Once our food arrives, the waiters disappear, losing the opportunity to sell us more food. Yes, they are busy, but other groups get plenty of attention. We ask about dessert and the waiter's halfhearted verbal listing doesn't include a number of choices we can see on the dessert cart across the room.
Anyway, the food we did have is good -it is just the service that is so disappointing. This place would be a good place for a larger group to have the antipasti menus - plate after plate of vegetables, wheels of cheese, ham, fried things, olives, fish. We however choose risotto al mare for primi and a frita mista of triglie and seppie for secondi. Both are very good. Too bad about the service. For food, a liter of water, no servizio included, 1 coffee, the cost is 54.00 euro.
Back to Molfetta in the late afternoon, we relax and then shop for a few more provisions. The grocer has saved us a burrata - still as good as the first. I also try the taralle, a pretzel-like twist of crispness flavored with fennel. These are the particular taralle of Molfetta shaped like a elongated Q - I vow to bring a bag home. After a quick nosh of tomatoes, cheese, and grapes we go to the cinema. R wanted to go to the cinema right away, arriving in the middle of the film. She explained that she likes to arrive in the middle of the story and try to figure out what's going on. Then she stays through the end and the beginning until she reaches the point where she came in, then leaves. I protest that I like to see movies from beginning to end, especially in a foreign language. We wait for the beginning (and I find R to be an even more interesting person because of this interesting viewpoint).
What movie is playing in this small town? "Shall We Dance" with Richard Gere and Susan Sarandon, dubbed into Italian of course. The theater has stadium chairs which are high-backed, but the floor is that of a normal theater, so the headrests actually make it difficult to see the screen. I spend most of the film sitting with neck held high. There are about 20 people for the Friday-night 7;30PM show. My Italian is not great - my food vocabulary is excellent, but following conversation in a moving is a challenge. Fortunately, the story is transparent enough to be easy to follow (plus I saw the Japanese original). Most surprising, the projector is stopped in the middle of the movie for a three-minute intermission. R says this always happens. R enjoyed the film and explained the best jokes that I hadn't understood over a late-evening snack.
Tomorrow: Daytrip to Trani
Dec 3rd, 2004, 06:10 AM
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DAY 12: Saturday, 30 October 2004 - Molfetta/Trani
Over breakfast I tell R that I hope I didn't wake her during the night when I tripped on a chair in the dining room on my way to the WC. (I'm thinking, "I hope I didn't wake the entire building..." She heard it, but was already awake and wondering about other strange noises. There's really not a lot of street noise, just building noise. We continue to eat too much cheese for breakfast. Then we shop for more food, since today is Saturday, most if not all food shops will be closed Sunday, and Monday is a holiday, November 1. Funny, today R goes first to our regular fellow for cheese, milk, and other items, then on to another grocer whose shop seems very similar just for turkey filets. She just like his meat better.
We could take a train or bus to Trani, and decide on the bus, thinking we'd see local scenery better. The bus and train take about the same amount of time. The route parallels the sea. We pass small farms in the outskirts of Molfetta, though they seem to have small shacks only. R tells me that in this area the farmers always lived in town, travelling to their fields in the outskirts each day. As we approach Trani, I also enjoy the high bus view for looking over fences into the yards of some large private houses.
Much like Molfetta and Bari, the bus drops us in a more modern part of town that is arranged on a grid. It is a hot day as we walk to the waterfront, enjoying the breeze off the sea. Our approach gives us a fine view across the harbor to our goal, another beautiful cathedral. We walk around the harbor, first passing moored pleasure boats, eventually fishing boats with fishermen unraveling their nets and displaying today's catch of triglie.
The Cathedral of San Nicola the Pilgrim (a different Nicola than Bari - this one arrived on the back of a dolphin) sits facing the sea, very tall and austere. Interesting gargoyles pop out from the flat walls, and the usual Romanesque elephants support the window columns. On the porch, two unusual sculptures of men wrestling with snakes and lions flank the front door. We must enter through the lower 6 C. chapel, where a wedding is just about to begin, so we scurry through to an even lower Roman crypt. After a quick look at San Nicola's bones, we head upstairs to the main church, a soaring sunny space with a lovely rose window. Again, the space is bare of details, except for a few remnants of frescoes. Some simple 12-C. mosaics decorate the floor near the altar. (Was it here or in Bari that I note that the side chapels are furnished with resin chairs?) Another group of six is visiting the space, but soon we have it to ourselves.
On display behind a velvet rope is the original 12-C. bronze door, with simple scenes in a series of panels. R signals to me that she can't see well enough - let's step over the rope. As we do, we both trip, setting the heavy metal rope posts as well as an offering box a wobble. We manage to grab one another and the posts and box without anything crashing to the floor. But we know we weren't soundless, and pause waiting to see if anyone comes running. I guess the organ music downstairs was loud enough to muffle our mishap. We stay inside the ropes and get an excellent view of St George with the usual dragon and other typical scenes. To avoid walking through the wedding vows in progress, we sneak out a side door.
Trani Vecchia is different yet again from the old cities in Molfetta and Bari. Not only has the area always been in continuous use, important business still goes on here. The seat of government and the museum are opposite the cathedral and the old city spreads behind them. It is not the impenetrable maze of Bari. The buildings are larger, with more palazzos mixed in. Bari had such a secretive feeling about it, occupied but insular. Molfetta seemed deserted and renewed at the same time. Trani seems like a thriving place, with families shopping in the old town for their holiday meals and other Saturday errands.
After our bus ride home, we have a very slow afternoon. It is hot and we are tired. I find a shop that has very old-fashioned postcards (just the way I like them) for just 16 centesimi each. What a bargain! We take refuge in the house, reading, eating, napping, writing postcards, chatting. R shares her desire to visit NYC at Christmastime. Her uncle in Hoboken used to send them LIFE magazines when she was a child. From these she got the idea that Christmas in the USA was different - more special and exciting - than in Italy. She's always wanted to experience the hubbub that the rest of us hope to escape. Now I know how to show her a great time when next she visits...
Since we ate lunch in, we return to Ristorante Isola di San Andrea for dinner. The owner greets us warmly and we get a lot of attention since we're early. (The rest of the town is still out in the street!) First we are served a complimentary antipasti of olives, sardines, and fritters. We choose other antipasti: grilled seppieline on greens with pecorino - sounds odd but surprisingly tasty - and mussels stuffed with cheese, egg, and tomato. We both have the special primi of crepes layered with pescatrice (ray) and lobster sauce. For secondi we again have grilled triglie, and I wonder if I saw these same fish at the seaside this morning. We accept desserts of fruit only, which turns out to be deliciously ripe melon, fresh pineapple, and berries with a dollop of whipped cream. For food, a liter of water, no servizio included, the cost is 55.00 euro. A nice meal attentively served.
We're tired and looking forward to gaining an hour tonight when Daylight Savings Time ends. We chat sleepily about the different towns we've visited. When I ask if she would ever consider moving to Molfetta, R exclaims, "Oh, no! It is more backward the further south you go. I'd never get anything done. I don't think I could stand it all the time."
Tomorrow: Pilgrimage Church and Italian Halloween
Over breakfast I tell R that I hope I didn't wake her during the night when I tripped on a chair in the dining room on my way to the WC. (I'm thinking, "I hope I didn't wake the entire building..."
She heard it, but was already awake and wondering about other strange noises. There's really not a lot of street noise, just building noise. We continue to eat too much cheese for breakfast. Then we shop for more food, since today is Saturday, most if not all food shops will be closed Sunday, and Monday is a holiday, November 1. Funny, today R goes first to our regular fellow for cheese, milk, and other items, then on to another grocer whose shop seems very similar just for turkey filets. She just like his meat better.We could take a train or bus to Trani, and decide on the bus, thinking we'd see local scenery better. The bus and train take about the same amount of time. The route parallels the sea. We pass small farms in the outskirts of Molfetta, though they seem to have small shacks only. R tells me that in this area the farmers always lived in town, travelling to their fields in the outskirts each day. As we approach Trani, I also enjoy the high bus view for looking over fences into the yards of some large private houses.
Much like Molfetta and Bari, the bus drops us in a more modern part of town that is arranged on a grid. It is a hot day as we walk to the waterfront, enjoying the breeze off the sea. Our approach gives us a fine view across the harbor to our goal, another beautiful cathedral. We walk around the harbor, first passing moored pleasure boats, eventually fishing boats with fishermen unraveling their nets and displaying today's catch of triglie.
The Cathedral of San Nicola the Pilgrim (a different Nicola than Bari - this one arrived on the back of a dolphin) sits facing the sea, very tall and austere. Interesting gargoyles pop out from the flat walls, and the usual Romanesque elephants support the window columns. On the porch, two unusual sculptures of men wrestling with snakes and lions flank the front door. We must enter through the lower 6 C. chapel, where a wedding is just about to begin, so we scurry through to an even lower Roman crypt. After a quick look at San Nicola's bones, we head upstairs to the main church, a soaring sunny space with a lovely rose window. Again, the space is bare of details, except for a few remnants of frescoes. Some simple 12-C. mosaics decorate the floor near the altar. (Was it here or in Bari that I note that the side chapels are furnished with resin chairs?) Another group of six is visiting the space, but soon we have it to ourselves.
On display behind a velvet rope is the original 12-C. bronze door, with simple scenes in a series of panels. R signals to me that she can't see well enough - let's step over the rope. As we do, we both trip, setting the heavy metal rope posts as well as an offering box a wobble. We manage to grab one another and the posts and box without anything crashing to the floor. But we know we weren't soundless, and pause waiting to see if anyone comes running. I guess the organ music downstairs was loud enough to muffle our mishap. We stay inside the ropes and get an excellent view of St George with the usual dragon and other typical scenes. To avoid walking through the wedding vows in progress, we sneak out a side door.
Trani Vecchia is different yet again from the old cities in Molfetta and Bari. Not only has the area always been in continuous use, important business still goes on here. The seat of government and the museum are opposite the cathedral and the old city spreads behind them. It is not the impenetrable maze of Bari. The buildings are larger, with more palazzos mixed in. Bari had such a secretive feeling about it, occupied but insular. Molfetta seemed deserted and renewed at the same time. Trani seems like a thriving place, with families shopping in the old town for their holiday meals and other Saturday errands.
After our bus ride home, we have a very slow afternoon. It is hot and we are tired. I find a shop that has very old-fashioned postcards (just the way I like them) for just 16 centesimi each. What a bargain! We take refuge in the house, reading, eating, napping, writing postcards, chatting. R shares her desire to visit NYC at Christmastime. Her uncle in Hoboken used to send them LIFE magazines when she was a child. From these she got the idea that Christmas in the USA was different - more special and exciting - than in Italy. She's always wanted to experience the hubbub that the rest of us hope to escape. Now I know how to show her a great time when next she visits...
Since we ate lunch in, we return to Ristorante Isola di San Andrea for dinner. The owner greets us warmly and we get a lot of attention since we're early. (The rest of the town is still out in the street!) First we are served a complimentary antipasti of olives, sardines, and fritters. We choose other antipasti: grilled seppieline on greens with pecorino - sounds odd but surprisingly tasty - and mussels stuffed with cheese, egg, and tomato. We both have the special primi of crepes layered with pescatrice (ray) and lobster sauce. For secondi we again have grilled triglie, and I wonder if I saw these same fish at the seaside this morning. We accept desserts of fruit only, which turns out to be deliciously ripe melon, fresh pineapple, and berries with a dollop of whipped cream. For food, a liter of water, no servizio included, the cost is 55.00 euro. A nice meal attentively served.
We're tired and looking forward to gaining an hour tonight when Daylight Savings Time ends. We chat sleepily about the different towns we've visited. When I ask if she would ever consider moving to Molfetta, R exclaims, "Oh, no! It is more backward the further south you go. I'd never get anything done. I don't think I could stand it all the time."
Tomorrow: Pilgrimage Church and Italian Halloween
Dec 3rd, 2004, 11:09 AM
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Thanks for the nice thoughts. Thanks especially to SeaUrchin whose reports I've also enjoyed. I took plenty of photographs though not many are good for internet sharing. I use a traditional camera and make lots of overlapping mosaics. I'll have to consider a few. . .
Dec 7th, 2004, 12:44 PM
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DAY 13: Sunday, 31 October 2004 - Molfetta
We gained on hour and used it to get up and out a bit earlier than usual. I’m enjoying the taralle for breakfast, along with the usual mozzarella, oranges, and grapes. We eat in the dining room (the kitchen is too small) which is the main receiving room for the apartment. R tells me that her grandfather actually entertained his guests in his bedroom. After entering the dining room, guests would walk through the next room (children’s bedroom) to the "master" bedroom, the only room with a window overlooking the street. In those days there was a sofa and a few chairs in the room, the small double bed nestled into one corner. All apartments in the building at that time were arranged this way – a series of rooms to pass through in succession with no hall. R also points to one of the scenes painted on the dining room ceiling. It depicts a church surrounded by fields near the sea. We will visit that church today.
We catch the hourly public bus that finishes its route at our destination, the church of the Madonna dei Martiri across the harbor. This church is the subject of an important annual pilgrimage in Molfetta – the Madonna statue floats across the harbor in an impressive procession. R tells me she believes the Molfettese who migrated to Hoboken founded the same church there – it is THAT important to their culture.
The bus is full of people heading for the cemetery. Because tomorrow is All Saints Day, activity at the cemetery is bustling. Cars are parked everywhere, some blocking the path of the bus through the single lane available along the narrow road. Many bus riders carry large bouquets of chrysanthemums while others will purchase floral tributes at one of the dozen or so flower stands at the entrance to the walled cemetery. People travel the length of the country to be with family for this important holiday. Once past the cemetery traffic jam, the bus winds past some olive groves and the Molfetta Agricultural Cooperative.
Finally we reach the harborside and the Madonna dei Martiri, no longer surrounded by fields. Inside the church, the brothers are singing and the church is filling for a service. We step back outside to enjoy the view across the harbor and to see if the Ospedaletto is open. Once a hospital, for years derelict, it has been renovated to use for exhibits. After a few confused minutes, we find the entrance that is open. ("Oh, yes, we’re open at 10:00AM, but only this door, not that door. We open that door at 11:00AM." We are more interested in the restored building than the exhibit of recent icons. We do learn that the Madonna and Child on the altar in the church is the original 3rd-4th century icon that is usually kept hidden away, a copy in its place. We return to the crowded church just in time to see a parishoner faint in the humid stuffy air. Ambulances are called, feet held in the air, cups of water provided. One brother offers what we consider too little too late – he props a side door slightly ajar. The crowd clears and we tour the church, spending time with the visiting Madonna. I notice a few pews with plaques listing donors from Hoboken. We watch parishoners take turns crawling into a low space in a side chapel, so we wait our turn. Once under, two can stand and contemplate by lamplight a stone sculpture of a very dead Christ. Apparently at one time this was a passage to the Ospedaletto. In sealing off the passage, this odd room was created.
We walk back to town along the waterfront, aware of the heat and humidity but enjoying a strong breeze from the sea. We stop at the church of San Domenico, baroque and recently renovated. There’s a service in progress honoring two couples celebrating 50 and 65 years of marriage. We pass some brisk fish-selling along the waterfront. When we reach the duomo, there, too, is another service honoring a 25th anniversary. The duomo is quite beautiful, its Romanesque forms multiplied with domes and half-domes. An interesting detail: some of the columns have claw feet, both lions and eagles, that just "grow" out from the bottom.
On the way home we climb the steps to walk on the wall that separates Molfetta Vecchia from the main part of town. For some apartments, the wall is both their street and terrace, so we dodge laundry lines and racks as we stroll. Back to street level, we pass the little train in the park, families enjoying the noontime sun. At home R prepares a lunch of sauteed turkey, with prosciutto, cheese, cucumbers, and fruit as we wish. We read and nap and discover that at 5:00PM it’s dark! We sit and chat and then chat some more about times past. R describes her college days in Florence, and especially the 1966 flood, her voice heavy with sadness.
We go to see the sea one more time, contemplate the black sky, crashing waves, and forest of lampposts. On through Molfetta Vecchia, we stop at San Pietro, another church that has just been renovated. The small oval church is very homogenous. The façade is lovely – both interior and exterior express the same baroque restraint. Again and again on this trip I’ve walked into churches to find people celebrating something and enjoying life. Here we join the end of a service that pays homage to all the volunteers who made the restoration possible.
Business is brisk at the San Marco gelato stand. R: chocolate and bacio (hazlenut/chocolate); E: croccante with rum and bacio. We get medium cones -- really good, really huge, and only 1.70 euro.
Today is Halloween. Since I’ve been here, I’ve seen Halloween decorations and favors in the stores. R says the business part of Halloween is being promoted – the buying of gifts for kids, but not trick-or-treating or costumes. Italian children wear costumes for days at carnivale. This evening we see a few young teenagers in scary masks and witch costumes as we relax on a park bench.
In Molfetta I’ve experienced Italian life in a medium-sized city. This is no tourist place. I haven’t noticed any hotels, though R tells me there are a few. Most visitors are extended family coming from Milan, Hoboken, and Argentina. My two greatest impressions: the midday siesta when Molfetta is a ghost town; the evening passegiata enjoyed by all ages. These two times of day tell the story of the quality of life and of families here.
We stop at Franzese (Via Baccarini 141) for takeout pizza. Franzese himself does an amazing pizza ballet. He takes your order, immediately rolls and dresses your pizza, slides it into the oven, checks those already inside, and then turns to the next customer – never moving more than a foot or two from the same spot. Cooked pizzas are removed and slid into sturdy boxes to carry away. My pizza margherita takes less than 5 minutes total to prepare and cook and costs 1.80 euro. Pizza and grapes make a great dinner as I prepare my mind to head for Rome tomorrow.
Tomorrow: All Saints Day and Back to Rome
We gained on hour and used it to get up and out a bit earlier than usual. I’m enjoying the taralle for breakfast, along with the usual mozzarella, oranges, and grapes. We eat in the dining room (the kitchen is too small) which is the main receiving room for the apartment. R tells me that her grandfather actually entertained his guests in his bedroom. After entering the dining room, guests would walk through the next room (children’s bedroom) to the "master" bedroom, the only room with a window overlooking the street. In those days there was a sofa and a few chairs in the room, the small double bed nestled into one corner. All apartments in the building at that time were arranged this way – a series of rooms to pass through in succession with no hall. R also points to one of the scenes painted on the dining room ceiling. It depicts a church surrounded by fields near the sea. We will visit that church today.
We catch the hourly public bus that finishes its route at our destination, the church of the Madonna dei Martiri across the harbor. This church is the subject of an important annual pilgrimage in Molfetta – the Madonna statue floats across the harbor in an impressive procession. R tells me she believes the Molfettese who migrated to Hoboken founded the same church there – it is THAT important to their culture.
The bus is full of people heading for the cemetery. Because tomorrow is All Saints Day, activity at the cemetery is bustling. Cars are parked everywhere, some blocking the path of the bus through the single lane available along the narrow road. Many bus riders carry large bouquets of chrysanthemums while others will purchase floral tributes at one of the dozen or so flower stands at the entrance to the walled cemetery. People travel the length of the country to be with family for this important holiday. Once past the cemetery traffic jam, the bus winds past some olive groves and the Molfetta Agricultural Cooperative.
Finally we reach the harborside and the Madonna dei Martiri, no longer surrounded by fields. Inside the church, the brothers are singing and the church is filling for a service. We step back outside to enjoy the view across the harbor and to see if the Ospedaletto is open. Once a hospital, for years derelict, it has been renovated to use for exhibits. After a few confused minutes, we find the entrance that is open. ("Oh, yes, we’re open at 10:00AM, but only this door, not that door. We open that door at 11:00AM."
We are more interested in the restored building than the exhibit of recent icons. We do learn that the Madonna and Child on the altar in the church is the original 3rd-4th century icon that is usually kept hidden away, a copy in its place. We return to the crowded church just in time to see a parishoner faint in the humid stuffy air. Ambulances are called, feet held in the air, cups of water provided. One brother offers what we consider too little too late – he props a side door slightly ajar. The crowd clears and we tour the church, spending time with the visiting Madonna. I notice a few pews with plaques listing donors from Hoboken. We watch parishoners take turns crawling into a low space in a side chapel, so we wait our turn. Once under, two can stand and contemplate by lamplight a stone sculpture of a very dead Christ. Apparently at one time this was a passage to the Ospedaletto. In sealing off the passage, this odd room was created. We walk back to town along the waterfront, aware of the heat and humidity but enjoying a strong breeze from the sea. We stop at the church of San Domenico, baroque and recently renovated. There’s a service in progress honoring two couples celebrating 50 and 65 years of marriage. We pass some brisk fish-selling along the waterfront. When we reach the duomo, there, too, is another service honoring a 25th anniversary. The duomo is quite beautiful, its Romanesque forms multiplied with domes and half-domes. An interesting detail: some of the columns have claw feet, both lions and eagles, that just "grow" out from the bottom.
On the way home we climb the steps to walk on the wall that separates Molfetta Vecchia from the main part of town. For some apartments, the wall is both their street and terrace, so we dodge laundry lines and racks as we stroll. Back to street level, we pass the little train in the park, families enjoying the noontime sun. At home R prepares a lunch of sauteed turkey, with prosciutto, cheese, cucumbers, and fruit as we wish. We read and nap and discover that at 5:00PM it’s dark! We sit and chat and then chat some more about times past. R describes her college days in Florence, and especially the 1966 flood, her voice heavy with sadness.
We go to see the sea one more time, contemplate the black sky, crashing waves, and forest of lampposts. On through Molfetta Vecchia, we stop at San Pietro, another church that has just been renovated. The small oval church is very homogenous. The façade is lovely – both interior and exterior express the same baroque restraint. Again and again on this trip I’ve walked into churches to find people celebrating something and enjoying life. Here we join the end of a service that pays homage to all the volunteers who made the restoration possible.
Business is brisk at the San Marco gelato stand. R: chocolate and bacio (hazlenut/chocolate); E: croccante with rum and bacio. We get medium cones -- really good, really huge, and only 1.70 euro.
Today is Halloween. Since I’ve been here, I’ve seen Halloween decorations and favors in the stores. R says the business part of Halloween is being promoted – the buying of gifts for kids, but not trick-or-treating or costumes. Italian children wear costumes for days at carnivale. This evening we see a few young teenagers in scary masks and witch costumes as we relax on a park bench.
In Molfetta I’ve experienced Italian life in a medium-sized city. This is no tourist place. I haven’t noticed any hotels, though R tells me there are a few. Most visitors are extended family coming from Milan, Hoboken, and Argentina. My two greatest impressions: the midday siesta when Molfetta is a ghost town; the evening passegiata enjoyed by all ages. These two times of day tell the story of the quality of life and of families here.
We stop at Franzese (Via Baccarini 141) for takeout pizza. Franzese himself does an amazing pizza ballet. He takes your order, immediately rolls and dresses your pizza, slides it into the oven, checks those already inside, and then turns to the next customer – never moving more than a foot or two from the same spot. Cooked pizzas are removed and slid into sturdy boxes to carry away. My pizza margherita takes less than 5 minutes total to prepare and cook and costs 1.80 euro. Pizza and grapes make a great dinner as I prepare my mind to head for Rome tomorrow.
Tomorrow: All Saints Day and Back to Rome
Dec 14th, 2004, 05:31 AM
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I'm not sure than anyone's still istening, but I vowed to finish this trip report. . .
DAY 14: Monday, 1 November 2004 - Molfetta and Rome
Today is my last day in Molfetta. My last circus bath is no more skilled than the first. We made no plans except to pack and clean my room. It's a lazy morning of chatting, packing, unmaking the bed, and preparing panini for the trip. Big news in the newspaper: the price of a cup of coffee has gone up 108 percent since the introduction of the euro - scandalous! When we walk to the train station, we are elated to find that the 12:28PM Regionale train is running. (We had received ambiguous information on Saturday about the holiday schedule.)
We must ride just one stop to Barletta, where R will wait with me for my ES train to Rome. We sit in a café across from the station, where I inadvertently agree to a latte macchiato instead of a caffe macchiato. In place of coffee "stained" with milk I get milk "stained" with coffee -- not what I'd wanted, but not bad. The window displays a product I've never noticed before: coal candy for Christmas! (It looks like big black hunks of sugar.) We have time to check the platform posters for the train carriage position. First Class Carriage 1 should be at the back, so we position ourselves and begin our good-byes. I promise R a NYC visit to match my wonderful time with her. The 14:12PM ES arrives on time -- alas, the order of carriages is reversed. It seems as if everyone on the platform is in motion, scrambling to the opposite end of the train to find the correct car.
The four-hour trip to Rome will cross the Appennines. After Foggia, the train reverses direction and heads inland. (NOW my carriage IS at the back of the train.) The rise to the mountains is a gradual one. While the scenery seems to be rolling hills, I notice that my ears pop. The hillside farms are past harvest time, their fields already turned. We reach even greater elevations and pass through a few long tunnels, emerging into beautiful mountaintop valleys. I can see modern windmills along some mountain ridges, a dozen or more grouped together at a time. It is still odd to me, this contrast - huge power lines march through fields behind an ancient farmhouse. We stop at Benevento, located in a mountaintop valley. When we emerge from a long tunnel, I can see quarries to one side. To the other side, the land falls away. We have crossed the mountains and Caserta spreads out before us as we descend to the station.
Night has almost fallen as we begin the final flat run to Rome. We pass towns and their walled cemeteries set near the elevated train line. It's easy to see the crowds of cars in front and visitors flowing through the narrow walkways between the gravesites. Little red lights wink from every grave, every wall monument, casting a glow on the floral tributes. I can see the bare outlines of mountains in the distance. The train is full now, even in first class, as people return home after the holiday weekend.
Roma Termini is teeming with people. It is still hot, still sticky. I drag my bag to the Hotel Colosseum. I've decided to give them another chance. My double room (50) is slightly bigger than the one P and I shared. It faces the back of the building (quieter) and the higher floor provides a nicer view across the rooftops of Rome toward the Quirinale Hill. I am in love with the miniscule bathroom because it has a shower and hot water. I wash everything possible. It's nice to feel truly clean again.
Tired from the journey, I step out briefly for an internet check. I haven't seen an internet point since I left Rome, and I was watching for one in each city I visited. On the way, I stop for a gelato (E: cherry) at an innocuous place on Via Cavour. Back at the hotel, I relax on the flat bed as I think about how to spend tomorrow, my last day in Rome.
TOMORROW: Final Roman Roamin'
DAY 14: Monday, 1 November 2004 - Molfetta and Rome
Today is my last day in Molfetta. My last circus bath is no more skilled than the first. We made no plans except to pack and clean my room. It's a lazy morning of chatting, packing, unmaking the bed, and preparing panini for the trip. Big news in the newspaper: the price of a cup of coffee has gone up 108 percent since the introduction of the euro - scandalous! When we walk to the train station, we are elated to find that the 12:28PM Regionale train is running. (We had received ambiguous information on Saturday about the holiday schedule.)
We must ride just one stop to Barletta, where R will wait with me for my ES train to Rome. We sit in a café across from the station, where I inadvertently agree to a latte macchiato instead of a caffe macchiato. In place of coffee "stained" with milk I get milk "stained" with coffee -- not what I'd wanted, but not bad. The window displays a product I've never noticed before: coal candy for Christmas! (It looks like big black hunks of sugar.) We have time to check the platform posters for the train carriage position. First Class Carriage 1 should be at the back, so we position ourselves and begin our good-byes. I promise R a NYC visit to match my wonderful time with her. The 14:12PM ES arrives on time -- alas, the order of carriages is reversed. It seems as if everyone on the platform is in motion, scrambling to the opposite end of the train to find the correct car.
The four-hour trip to Rome will cross the Appennines. After Foggia, the train reverses direction and heads inland. (NOW my carriage IS at the back of the train.) The rise to the mountains is a gradual one. While the scenery seems to be rolling hills, I notice that my ears pop. The hillside farms are past harvest time, their fields already turned. We reach even greater elevations and pass through a few long tunnels, emerging into beautiful mountaintop valleys. I can see modern windmills along some mountain ridges, a dozen or more grouped together at a time. It is still odd to me, this contrast - huge power lines march through fields behind an ancient farmhouse. We stop at Benevento, located in a mountaintop valley. When we emerge from a long tunnel, I can see quarries to one side. To the other side, the land falls away. We have crossed the mountains and Caserta spreads out before us as we descend to the station.
Night has almost fallen as we begin the final flat run to Rome. We pass towns and their walled cemeteries set near the elevated train line. It's easy to see the crowds of cars in front and visitors flowing through the narrow walkways between the gravesites. Little red lights wink from every grave, every wall monument, casting a glow on the floral tributes. I can see the bare outlines of mountains in the distance. The train is full now, even in first class, as people return home after the holiday weekend.
Roma Termini is teeming with people. It is still hot, still sticky. I drag my bag to the Hotel Colosseum. I've decided to give them another chance. My double room (50) is slightly bigger than the one P and I shared. It faces the back of the building (quieter) and the higher floor provides a nicer view across the rooftops of Rome toward the Quirinale Hill. I am in love with the miniscule bathroom because it has a shower and hot water. I wash everything possible. It's nice to feel truly clean again.
Tired from the journey, I step out briefly for an internet check. I haven't seen an internet point since I left Rome, and I was watching for one in each city I visited. On the way, I stop for a gelato (E: cherry) at an innocuous place on Via Cavour. Back at the hotel, I relax on the flat bed as I think about how to spend tomorrow, my last day in Rome.
TOMORROW: Final Roman Roamin'
