just somo fotos

bravo brava bravissimo

italian metal hair band.

I am invited to a concert in Cattolica. In the car on the way over with Vivi and her boyfriend and brothers:
"ElisabetTH." Vivi's boyfriend is very proud of his pronounciation of my name.
"Si?"
"You will be in love with gwitar player. All girls love him. He is playboy."

They learned their songs in English but phonetically. As soon as I walked in the bar the lead singer grabbed my purse and swung it around his neck like a hula hoop. Throughout the evening I had people asking me, "Did they say that right? What did they just say?"
"Um... fires of hell?"

We make plans for their North American tour. I may have offered up several of your couches for them to crash on along their travels. Hope that's alright. Just watch out for that shirtless guitarist, he's a heartbreaker.

thats amore

I get a chance to work in the vineyard yesterday, weeding and cleaning around the plants. There so many amazing things in nature. They grow salvia (sage) around the grapevines to disinfect them from various fungi. They also grow rosebushes at the top of each row, which happen to be susceptible to a different sort of disease the grapevines are are prone to too - however the rose bushes are more sensitive to it and will show the first signs long before the disease has deeply spread amongst the grapevines. Like a little alarm system.

After this one of their friends took me out to Urbino. I think this is a famous city. It's populated by mainly art school students. We sit in the piazza and have a conversation that is part Italian, part French, part English and part mime. I am told the pizza place we go to is the best in Italy. I have already learned by now that every pizza place is apparently the best place in Italy. After a sip of grappa I head back to the farm. Since the city is so full of students, there is a curfew in place by the abbhored carabineiri, and as we drive away all the lights in the windows are out.

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Today Suzie and I work in the olive trees. For once, I find something I am surprisingly good at. I have to climb up the middle of the trees with a handsaw and prune the branches, starting from the clustered centres and eventually balancing on the outer branches and thinning out the newer sprouting twigs. I took this photo of Suzie gathering the discards while you can kind of see my shadow - that's my foot dangling. Another one of their neighbours came by walking his dog to see if I would like to go for a walk.

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Also I am apparently a muse. This is only one of a series. I sat still for half an hour not expecting to see such remarkable results.

I'm feeling fantastic out here. I can't wait to come back and share all the things I forget to write down. It's been beyond belief how much good it has done to be completely removed from a situation and exist in essentially the entire opposite. I've even stopped mentally adding "TAKE THAT" to the end of every new amazing fact or occurrance or skill I've acquired when taking a mental catalogue.

Another one of their friends is cooking dinner sometime this week for the manager of the men's Italian soccer team and said he would bring me along. (At least this is what I gathered. I pretty much heard the words 'Italian Men's Soccer Team' and started nodding and stopped listening.)

At the same time I love to think, "HOW, SIR, DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES."

outdoor shower

This is the outdoor shower. It's all set with handmade mosaics. Below is the view from when you are taking your shower.

The view is obviously much more panoramic than that. They just built that deck last month and in a matter of days the vines will really start growing and create a canopy above it. Soon we'll have dinners out there. This Friday their good friend from Holland is coming and there is to be a festa with a big barbeque.

After a long day in the sweltering hot weather weeding and hoeing and building a hut for the baby ducks, it's beyond incredible to take a shower outside and hear the sheeps honking (trust me) and the sun going down and the neighbour strolling past with their dog...

i hope this picture isn't too PG 13 or anything, i thought it was alright. if you are offended i am sorry and can take it down.

another evening out, i'm on a continous buzz in this country. italians - europeans - or maybe just the people i've been meeting are as fantastic as people say they are. they love life, they love their friends and they love to be loud. after incredible pizza at a massive restaurant with three of the most coked out playboy waiters i have ever experienced (got a phone number from one, one sat on my lap, one tried to goodnight kiss with tongue) we meet up for beers on the same terrace as before. I ask Iris to coach me a few words in Italian and raise my glass and say YOU ARE THE BEST PEOPLE EVER. The entire terrace erupts in cheers and it's like a season finale or something as they all attempt to sing the Canadian national anthem in my honour.

mondaino

it is literally perfect here.

I spend a rainy morning in the family's cantina with Phelan (the father) helping stack the wine downstairs in the cellar. The building was built in the 13th century, with the most recent renovations done in the 17th century, complete with the cane roofing with plaster applied ontop. Their wines are fantastic - they all prefer the white which leaves plenty of red for me. In the car ride back to the farm he puts on a cd and is pleased to bits that I not only recognize but adore Van Morrison.

Suzie cooks a fabulous dinner and we all drink and eat and talk, drifting into the living room afterwards to continue sharing stories about our families. Iris asks if I'd like to go out. We head out on the town of Mondaino to the piazza and have espresso con sambucca. Their son Basil joins a bit later and I get to meet all their friends including the town crazmo. Endless beers and everyone rolls their own cigarettes. Some people understand French so I can talk about more than just the days of the week, SCORE.

One of their friends wins big on the slot machine, buys a case of beer and we all head over to his apartment down the lane. About a dozen amazing people around the table, someone breaks out grissini and marinated aubergine and pomodori secchi and Stevie Wonder on the stereo. There is a trapeze but I decline. Iris parts a bit earlier but I stay on with Basil. The friend breaks out the dregs of his liquor cabinet and we demolish it. We end up trekking all the way back home to the farm literally in time for me to feed the chickens.

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Today Basil and Iris take me out wild asparagi hunting. They have trained eagle eyes and are surefooted as billy goats out in the forest. I discover I am pure crap at it. I manage to get tangled up in the bush, stabbed by a rogue porcupine quill and positively drenched in the rain but find six straggly stalks. "Look guys!" I come stumbling over to where they wait at the sheep enclosure. They turn to face me, their arms overflowing with bushels of asparagus and laugh goodnaturedly.

I clean myself up and come upstairs to see Basil and Phelan making tagliatelle and taglialini. Basil informs me one of his friends from last night called several times and wants to cook dinner for me tonight.

My last morning at the Basile farm was very embarassing. I was trying to distract myself by re-debriefing the next girl on how to put things in the dishwasher and my voice kept cracking. I brought my bags downstairs and then Yellow by Coldplay came on the radio and I started to get watery eyes, and then the hunky farmhand showed up at the door and the waterworks began. I couldn't even speak. My heart was broken when little Fede refused to give me a kiss goodbye.

So then it was a bus to Paganico, another bus to Grosseto, and then the trainfest.

hey guys. i miss you. how are things going back home? what's new? hey um HOW COME NOBODY TOLD ME THERE WAS A VOLCANO?? I only listen to the radio station that plays prank calls here in Italy, so I didn't hear anything about it, I guess the family assumed I knew. But I didn't, and then proceeded to look like a complete tool while travelling to my next farm.

The first train of what COULD have been a smooth six hour, three connection trip, was delayed two hours. A large line was gathering at the ticket counter. As I waited the sign clicked again and now it was two hours and forty minutes. I asked the lady ahead of me if they often had delays like this. She said, "No, no, this is because of the volcano." I laughed hysterically. "Always the volcano right when you need to hurry, eh?"

So I spent fourteen hours in transit. Waiting and sitting on the trains all day long made me grumpy and lethargic. I had phoned the lady for the next farm ahead of time and informed her of the delays. She told me her daughter would be downtown studying and would come get me. I tried to stand around waiting and looking cool outside the train station when two girls about my age came running over. "Liza?" Close enough.

Iris is a year ahead of me, and although her parents were born in England she and her brother were born here in Italy and speak perfectly fluent Italian and perfectly fluent English with adorable British accents. She asks if I feel like maybe grabbing something to eat. Within minutes they take me to an amazing terrace right in the centre of the beachside town, where they both work and therefore know everyone there. Big juicy beers, something that I call quesadilla but they have a different name for here, and tons of really hilarious friends. I have more great conversations naming the days of the week and different types of alcohol. We stay until the bar closes and then scooch our chairs and table outside to continue on until the wee hours of the morning.

I couldn't appreciate the farm as I stumbled in last night but this morning it was incredible waking up and having no clue how I landed in the middle of a movie set. I swear, this place is breathtaking. When you envision a British family starting a farm in Italy you have these romantic ideas about bright colourful houses and lots of animals lounging around and vines everywhere and this is it. The parents Suzie and Phelan are both artists as well so it's even more surreal with an outdoor Roman bath laid with handmade mosaic overlooking the freshly built wooden deck.

Here I feed the animals. Yes, it was as disastrous as you can imagine. The goats got frisky and Suzie ended up having to beat them away with a stick. The sheep. Jesus.

"Watch that one," Suzie is watching me from a distance, "He gets a bit biffy."

Mr 'Biffy' isn't pleased with the speed I try to scatter their food and I learn about his namesake firsthand.

The chicken stink and I am afraid of their giant momma rabbit who is VERY protective of her children. I can't stop laughing at the ducks and the pigs are actually the least frightening for now. One of their three dogs and one of their two cats are very friendly and fight to climb on my lap whenever I sit down.

I can't believe it's only been a month ago I left.

principina de mare

il nite

Spending so much time out in the sun working in shortpants and worksocks, I had developed a glaringly obvious lower shin to knee tanline. They call it my "Canadian socks" cause my feet are so white. Nonetheless, I can't really go out without wearing a dress. On the drive into town we spot a deer - two points! But nearly hit a wild rabbit. Minus one.

Cinigiano has a BAR and a PUB. The pub has draft beer but the bar has a pool table. The locals are disappointingly unfazed by my presence. I stand out not as an exotic foreigner but the way anyone in a town of 300 stands out if they aren't directly related to someone. After nearly a month here even I can recognize people and ask the bartender how his daughter is doing at school. It's really cosy.

Everyone wears leather jackets and chainsmokes weak cigarettes. I would tell you what the price of a beer is but apparently it's an affront to the manhood of the male accompanying you if you pay for your own. Maybe I didn't start up any feminist arguments there.

Two rounds at the bar and two rounds at the pub and next thing you know we've got a Romanian, an Albanian, an Italian and a Canadian in a Mercedes going to Grosetto ("...and then the bartender says, you can't put your monkey there!") Grosetto is the nearest big city. In this nice weather in the evenings everyone is outside smoking and kind of being douchebags cause they stand in the middle of the sidewalks. Il nite (the nightclub) doesn't look too tempting I guess so we go to the bowling alley, obviously. And play pool, obviously.

I've played more pool in the past three weeks than I have in my whole life and I'm actually getting not bad at it. I even won a few rounds. I went around saying what I thought meant "I am the ultimate pool player!" but 'ultimo' actually means 'last.'

The bathrooms are a great obstacle course. They are different and therefore WEIRD and WRONG. A beautiful showroom of various porcelain fixtures. We get the age old paradox - is it a toilet, bidet, urinal or sink? (Why do Europeans adore buttwashing so much? Bidets everywhere.) At this point I have definitely peed in probably a sink or a bidet and I don't want to know where I washed my hands.

At the end of the night I seem to have mistaken my birra for Linguistic Skills Serum and begin speaking "fluent" Italian with my amici. Pointing out the colour of people's shirts, naming different types of sauces, you know, current events.

I leave here this Wednesday for a farm outside of Bologna, something involving pottery I think. After that I go to Pisa, on a farm that has MINI PIGS.

retractions & policemens

just a little quick note.

Reading over these I am so ashamed of the grammar/spelling errors, the general way it's written. I am usually the obnoxious friend who chuckles condescendingly as she pulls out her red pen for everything from legal documents to handmade get-well cards.

So I just wanted to clear up. Language barrier or not, I am not usually this poor a speller. I literally have mere seconds at a time in between stuffing my face with cheese and being the worst ambassador ever to try to get the internets working.


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Today in la cantina (the winery) we were bottling and labelling for a big shipment. While we were there, the cabineiri showed up. This is like the police I think. This elderly pink faced man came in, very neatly groomed and tons of medals and stripes pinned to his coat, complete with tasseled epaulets. He discussed something very briefly and seriously with my 'boss' and then saw me. He asked my boss who the strange beautiful* young lady was, clumsily cleaning corks. My boss tried to explain the exchange program but the old man stopped listening past "Canadian."
"Eh...TORONTO!He said excitedly. "CALGARY! Cities." He looked like a proud little kid handing you wilted dandelions. I nodded. Yes, those are in Canada.

It turns out the reason he came by was because a strange car was seen driving down the road earlier that day. Welcome to Cinigiano , population 300.



* i definitely heard and understood the word bella. and i only mention it because i take compliments where ever i can get them.

No biggie...

but sometimes they let me take a spin in the family lanborghini.

oh yes.

ohhhh yessss.

that's mario warmin' it up for me.

holla.

THE GIAPPONESE ARE COMING!

Although most of my work is done outdoors and in the vineyard, I've had the chance to learn a little bit about the wine business. Catching snippets of conversation, using the machine that puts the labels on the bottles, etc. Yesterday GB enlisted me to be translator for his newest Swiss client who only spoke French. Thank god for some reason I retained the word "degustation" from somewhere in my past.



There is a giant wine conference in Verona that happened two weekends ago that GB (my 'boss' in case I didn't mention him before) attended. Here was where he met the Swiss buyer, as well as the JAPANESE buyers. He explained to me this is a big deal. The wine industry is really just beginning there, it's very elite so the buyers don't want wines that are already international successes, they want to start their own fads. They are the new young eyes of the wine industry GB tells me.



Really, this meant little to me as me & Mario were still out in the fields the day of their arrival. It was unseasonably hot that day and we were hoeing the plants and adding fertilizer around - ORGANIC fertilizer. As I mentioned, it was HOT that day. Mario chugged four litres of water before lunch. I put on six layers of suncreen and then gave up and pulled my hair in front of my face to protect my nose. By 3pm, sunstroke had set in. We were competing over who could make the weirdest or most inappropriate noises as we hack and heft away at the earth (such as car alarm noises, swears in various languages at shrill volumes etc).
Mario is mid-oink and I throw down my hoe and bellow "E CHE SUA PAPA!?" ( italian for "WHO'S YOUR DADDY!?") just as the Hyundais purr past. Click, click goes their Nikons. Konnichwa?

In the end, the Japanese bought an unheard of amount of sales for the early summer. My wine is in Japan.

signor federico

This guy is just over two years old. He is also one of the cutest, charismatic bambini I have ever encountered. He is also entirely insane.

He is clearly the most powerful figure in the household. At breakfast he stands on his highchair and screams at me when I try to grab a biscotti out of the bag. He forcibly shoves his seven year old brother out of his way and actually knocks him over. At dinnertime he generally Helen Kellers around the table grabbing food off of whoever's plate and knocking over water glasses. (Yeah, he learned I don't share food pretty fast.) I saw him punch his father in the face once and he just wearily sighed and literally turned the other cheek. Which Fede then punched too.

He's not much of a footballo player though, like Antonio is. Yesterday he beat me again, ten to one. I fouled twice. The parents laugh and say it's not my fault, I'm from Canada, this is their national sport.

"You would probably win at hockey!" they suggest.

Uuhhhhhhhh............yyyyyyyeah.

lidz

this is what they call me. i thought it would be "e-leez-a-betta" but nope, "LIDZ".

venerdi

Today at 11 AM in the winery we needed to empty out the big tanks that the wine chills (chills like HANGIN OUT chills, not like gets cold chills) in for ten months before going into the big wooden barrels for however many more months. The wine that is left in the very bottom of the tanks after all the barrels are filled isn’t much, but because everything settles at the bottom it is the most harsh tasting, strongest alcoholic percentage, most impure of the batch. Instructions are to drain the tanks and dispose of it. So I drank 1.5 pints of wine at this time. It was goooood. Lunch was gooooood. Mowing the immense property’s lawn in the hot sun for three hours = priceless. I managed to get sunburnt on the tops of my nose and shoulders and backs of my calves but still can’t manage to get a tan. I keep assuring them that NO, not all Canadians are this pale, this is just me personally.

Here is an olive from one of their plants. If I wanted to I could just eat it now, but I thought I would give it a chance. I’ve tasted olive oil, like very unprocessed, fresh, ripe olive oil and it actually has a kind of spicy aftertaste.

Things are just amazing like that here though. The other day their neighbour drove over to deliver some of their fresh cow’s cheese. Like, a Tupperware that someone might bring some Nanaimo bars over in was full of their very own cows’ fresh CHEESE. I was floored but the family just shoved it in the fridge with the rest of the local prociutto, pecorino, pomodori secci, homemade Limoncello, etc. Needless to say mama’s gon need a second seat home on the airplane.

piogga / sole

So the mild rainstorm last night quickly changed into a full throttle thunderstorm. They make em bigger here in Italy, let me tell you. I kidded myself into thinking I was fine, I wasn’t scared or anything just cause it was pitch black and the thunder was shaking the windowpanes and I was fully ALONE in a giant old house … I decided to equip myself and rooted around for a flashlight. Found one, but no batteries. Found a candle, yet no matches. Then I remembered the dog outside. City slicker me assumed that dogs shouldn’t get wet, so I ran outside in the storm to the dog’s big cage. Dumb bitch wouldn’t come out of her doghouse at first so I turned to go back inside. That’s when she revealed it was a cute game and knocked me over in the mud before running inside and getting her disgusting dog stink everywhere. I got up and ran back inside and found out it was a he. Don’t ask.
At this point I was getting a little nervous, the homeowners here had mentioned that the power sometimes goes out in storms. I knew where the breaker was but wouldn’t be able to find it in the dark. In situations like these, I begin to envision every single move I make will someday be dramatically re-enacted on a Discovery Channel or TLC special like I SURVIVED A TUSCAN THUNDERSTORM or TOP FIVE HURRICANED ALIVE. I remember the Fiat outside has a cigarette lighter so I dash out with the candles stuffed in my sweater pocket. ("Little did Elizabeth know, those very candles would soon be her only hope of staying alive...") I manage to light them up and then try to race back inside through the rain with them still lit. Stay in school, kids. At this point the lightning is flashing, the entire sky lit pure white for painfully long seconds, the dog is rubbing its stupid nose in inappropriate places, I’m wet and ten seconds from collect-calling my dad in tears when BAM the door swings open. It’s the hunky farmhand with a fresh pack of matches and an offer to go out for pizza and beer.
He looks me over. “Sto bene?”
I try to laugh super casually as I hide my panic pile of flashlights and candles and dry my hair with paper towels. “Ma, si. I love the rain.”

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Today made up for it, a brief rain in the morning as we drove out through Siena to Montalcino, home of the current favourite wine (like how after Sideways came out everyone loved pinot noir) Brunelli. We scaled an old fortress and I told myself I wouldn’t be like the rest of the tourists snapping pictures of the view but then I caught this shot which just seemed too surreal. I swear I didn’t photoshop it. I can’t even start a fire, remember.

We had lunch at a cute little trattoria, I had tagliatelle fatto in casa with funghi porcini, and Brunelli, and then panna cotta with chocolate syrup on top which tasted so much like Dairy Queen I got a little homesick.

Then I took a picture of marius with his spiffy paisley umbrella. He’s a smoker. The fresh air here doesn’t agree with him.

buona pasqua a tutti

I am in pain. I love food, i love big dinners … but even I have my limits. It’s an amusing concept that lasagne could be considered an appetizer… but living through it, it’s a whole other battle.

First typical antipasto. Then bread. Followed by fist sized tortelli stuffed with ricotta and spinach. I was mostly full by now but no, on comes the artichoke lasagne. Then three different meat courses, sided by various roasted potatoes and vegetables and a spanakopita type dish. Then salads, finally followed by two different cakes and espresso for dessert. Ow.

The family was so lovely. It was the family of the neighbour to this house, she was aware I was going to be alone on Easter and she invited me along to her family’s lunch. She speaks about as much English as I do Italian, but she assured me her cousin who would be there spoke decent English. He lives in Milan and explained to me he learned English through the advertisements along the side of his Gmail. Legit.

The conversations were interesting to say the least. The fifteen year old daughter of the neighbour had been out to the discotheque the night before and met the most recent winner of Big Brother Italia and showed me her pictures with him. “He is a gay.” She explains, scrolling through the numerous photos of Mykel in hot pink pants and a cutoff shirt. Adorable Zio Franco keeps yelling down the table for the English speaking cousin to ask me if I like the tortelli. If I like the Spumante. If we eat this much in Canada. Nona across the table from me also keeps intstructing him to ask me if I want more wine or if I find it cold inside. I keep saying “Capito, capito,” cause I really am getting to understand the language, but my responses are below caveman grade.

Cousin: “Do you have the sister or the brother?”
Liz: “Ah … Me and one sister. Sister has twenty and six year. Sister is two babies. Babies are two brothers. Very … good babies.”

I made them a crostata al limone meringata. They don’t have measuring utensils, or cornstarch, or electric beaters. Looks like I still hold the MasterBaker title even internationally.

I am now trying to digest lying on the couch watching Troy dubbed over in Italian. Only mildly less sucky.

I WISH YOU ALL WERE HERE.

i mowed a lawn yesterday followed by footballo with the bambini then hefting rocks out of the vineyard for two hours solid. check out the guns. ladies?