Caffè Freddo, Prosecco and Other Italian Apéro Under the Tuscan Sun
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Your taste of life in Paris and France
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Monday, April 26, 2010 • Paris, France
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When the taxi dropped me off at Terminal 2G for a flight to Pisa, you wouldn't have known that just the day before most of the flights weren't leaving the tarmac at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Check in and the hour-forty-five-minute flight couldn't have been easier. Friends from the U.S. who have a professorship in the university town have invited me year after year to visit them. This year, the answer was "sure, why not?"
They rented a large furnished apartment that has a perfect view of the Leaning Tower from one window -- the "office." Geraldine, one of the world's greatest story tellers, relates how the desk faced the wall and not the spectacular view until she moved it so that while she writers her travel blog, The Travel Oyster, she can be amused by both the beauty and the humor of the half-cocked structure.
What's most fascinating is not the structure at all, but the hoards of tourists who come to Pisa just to see the tower, hold up their hands for the traditional photo (to give the illusion that they are holding up the tower, preventing it from falling), then get back on the bus and leave Pisa never to experience any other part of the pretty medieval Italian city.
I have always loved Pisa, for its array of ochre colored stucco buildings, throngs of students and its secret as one of Italy's most livable towns. It takes about 25 minutes to walk from one end to the other (the train station to the tower), but there's plenty of markets, shopping, cafés and restaurants along the way, punctuated by end-of-the-season wisteria vines that send a heavenly sent wafting in all directions.
Spring is "carciofi" (artichokes) season and there are at least 30 varieties in the Italian markets, with one billion pounds produced and consumed locally each year. The markets were overflowing with them along with colorful fresh produce that ends up over one pasta or another.
Over a "caffè macchiato" (espresso with milk) and "tiramisu" at a local café, a parade of costumed men playing ancient instruments passed by, for no reason that we could discern, other than perhaps the preparation of the celebration of Liberation Day on Sunday. Yes, we were in Italy, where men seem to love to wear tights.
This past week, American friends overheard me say "ciao" to someone in Paris and they giggled, striking them a bit funny that we would use the Italian word for "goodbye" in place of "au revoir." In Italy, instead of the usual "ciao" (pronounced with an exaggerated "aaoow" as only the Italians can), we heard the merchants utter what must be the latest 'cool' expression: "bye, bye!" I giggled, too, thinking how we borrow from one another to show how cosmopolitan we are.
Don't tell the French I said this, but eating in Italy is a much more exciting experience. While the French can esthetically prepare a plate to fit Marie-Antoinette's table, Italian cuisine is a multi-"hmmmer" with every bite an orgasmic delight. If I stay another day, I'll turn into a 'blimpette,' landing in one restaurant after another and taste-testing every sort of pasta that have shapes and names that may never reach the shores of the Americas. What they do in the kitchen with little fuss is an art far more admirable than all that pomp and circumstance in "la cuisine Française." (Remember, I didn't say this!)
With friends on Saturday we drove only a few minutes away to Lucca, famous for its intact Renaissance-era city walls and towering towers such as the Torre Guinigi, a 130 foot tower that has an ancient oak tree on top. We strolled along the narrow streets and shopped in the boutiques, discovering a store with a small, unassuming entrance, that once inside, led you from one massively large room to another with stunning frescoed ceilings as palatial as Versailles, filled with stylish designer clothing and high price tags. We left with nothing but our photos and memories.
At the city center, the circular Piazza Anfiteatro, the flower market was bustling and locals were carrying wisteria plants and others with which to enhance their gardens. The assortment of cacti rivaled that of the American west. At less than one euro each, we all picked our favorites, sending me home with 26 little cacti to place on the window sill at "Le Saint-Tropez," the studio apartment currently in its final stages, almost ready for rental. The little thorny plants will forever remind me of the beautiful medieval town of Lucca.
Outside the city walls, we dined in a local restaurant the tourists don't know, filled with bad art (presumably done by the owner), but serving great food. All the tables were large, ready for families, and there were children present, but no dogs, contrary to what you would find in a Paris restaurant on a Saturday night.
One cultural difference Geraldine has observed is how the Italians will all talk at once, managing to understand one another at the same time, but when the food is served, they say nothing. They eat as quickly as they can so they can resume talking...all at once. This is so unlike the French who make dining a long and pleasurable excuse for intellectual verbal ping pong.
Sunday, Italy's Liberation Day, we had planned to train to Siena to spend the day, but missed our train by less than one minute. The ticket-seller was particularly helpful, noting that our little excursion to Siena wasn't worth the time and effort anyway, suggesting we go to Florence instead. Would a French ticket-seller at the Gare du Nord done the same? We don't think so!
The next train to the region's capital was just an hour away and so was the ride, putting us in Florence just in time to shop in the central market for a new leather jacket. Bargaining well with the shopkeepers is one of life's little accomplishments, walking away with just the right thing at half the starting price. You know you've done well when they ask if your origin is really Mediterranean, and not American! (Better negotiators?)
Once accomplished, we took in a lunch of "Bistecca alla Fiorentina" (Florentine beef) and "Pappardelle al cinghiale" (a flat wide pasta with wild boar sauce) in a not-so-touristy off-the-beaten-track restaurant, not so easy to find in tourist-laden Firenze. We hadn't expected to be in Florence, but it must have been 'meant to be' as not only did we land at the Piazza Dell Signoria just in time for a live concert, but we also discovered free entry and no line into the Uffizi Gallery. The last time I attempted entry was a 38€ price tag and a long wait to see the Botticellis, Fra Filippo Lippis, Leonardo da Vincis and Michelangelos, among others. The Birth of Venus is one of my all time favorite paintings and to see it live is as thrilling as seeing the Mona Lisa for the first time.
Three days, three cities in Italy. It has been the perfect triad. Tonight "Parigi." Oh, to live in Europe, where one can cross the borderlines quickly, easily, cheaply, and take in a variety of cultures and languages without hardly blinking an eye.
A la prochaine...
Adrian Leeds
Editor, Parler Paris
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P.S. Please note that the Parler Parlor French-English Conversation Group will be closed Saturday, May 1 and 8, for the holidays. Visit http://www.parlerparlor.com for more information.
P.P.S. Don't forget to join me for PSI Communications' workshop, "Signal YES & NO clearly: Set your boundaries and protect your time!" tomorrow evening. For more information, visit http://psicommunications.com and to reserve, call Antonio 06.87.18.53.03 or email
antonio.psicom@gmail.com
P.P.P.S. "Le Provençal" is available for rental last minute from now until May 9th (high season!) at the lowest rate! Visit www.adrianleeds.com/parlerparis/apartments for more information and to reserve your stay.
