I’m dreaming about traveling. In my mind I’m going on vacation to a
place with so many vibrant colors it can make a rainbow jealous. A
view of a sapphire blue sea that borders an ancient village colored in
umber and sandstone. Fields of emerald-green, bright as the jewel
itself, roll on for miles dotted by cypress trees, grape vines and
olive groves only to be halted by imposing mountains that stretch
skyward toward Heaven. A location where time is not measured in
minutes but in millennia. A country that imparts such a personal
connection that it makes me want to shout from the rooftops and
announce to the rest of the world what they are missing. Only then I
realize that I don’t need to imagine such a beautiful place because it
genuinely exists. I awaken and I am in Italy.
I am an extremely fortunate and blessed individual who has had
opportunities to travel to such wonderful places as Spain, France,
Corsica, and the Azores, but none seem to have the same lasting effect
on my psyche as Italy. Granted, Italy was the first country I ever
visited (Canada doesn’t count) so there may be some bias influenced by
the “first-timers” effect. With every return trip, Italy presents new
adventures and challenges that force me to relax and adjust. When done
correctly the result is a feeling of triumphant and joyous
satisfaction.
Stepping off the plane, whether it be Rome, Venice or Florence, a wave
of calm comes over me. Knowing already that the trains may be on
strike or the buses are not on time, in my heart that is fine because
Italians have taught me that a little chaos is good for one’s soul.
Surprisingly, things do function reasonably well considering the
uncertainty of schedules but I’m not looking for certainty. After
adjusting my internal travel clock to Italy time. I inhale, hold it
and exhale all anxiety, frustration and angst that may have hijacked
my brain on the flight over. After that brief Zen-like moment I am now
ready to assimilate and become a local.
Because all the flights to Italy are overnights, I should be close to exhaustion but I’m too excited to be tired. I’m in my rental car, the GPS is set, and I’m heading south to my rented villa. I have all my radio stations preset to the local stations so no streaming music while I’m here. I want commercials and news and soccer reports. I won’t understand a word of it, but since my goal is to become a local over the next two weeks, I’ll pretend that I do.
With every stop sign and turn my trip becomes even more enjoyable.
Taking backroads to my destination may not be the quickest way to get
there but it’s definitely more rewarding. I pass farmhouse then farm
as picturesque as any Norman Rockwell. An old gentleman driving a
horse drawn hay wagon is crossing the street up ahead and I slow down
to allow him the right of way. Grabbing the brim with his free hand he
tips his hat in response to my wave. Even the horse was nice enough to
leave something for me in the street. A few more miles and I’ll be at
my destination but first I pass a vineyard and a sign that reads “è
aperto” or open. No better time than the present to stock up on
supplies so it’s time to stop.
I have never been to a vineyard in Italy that just makes wine, and
this particular establishment produces and has all the makings of a
wonderful afternoon snack. After a modest amount of sampling, I am
leaving with several bottles of excellent wine, red and white, a
generous wedge of Pecorino Romano cheese, some local honey to go with
the cheese and a link of dry salami. However, this is not just any
salami. The meat is from that elusive and delicious Italian wild boar.
Seasoned with just the right amount of salt, pepperoncini, and fennel,
it’s aged in a cellar for 6 months and when it is done well, it’s
Heavenly proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.
On the road again for the final twenty minutes of the drive and I
arrive at my home for the next fourteen days. Caterina, the wonderful
woman who owns the property has left me directions, keys and her cell
number in case I have any issues, but I think I’m good. I get
everything out of the car and quickly unpack. The kitchen is small yet
efficient and has all the necessities. I grab a cutting board and a
knife and proceed to put together an antipasti board for my lunch.
It’s too late in the day now to get any bread but I found some
crackers in the cupboard that will do fine.
The rear patio overlooks the hills and valleys of the area. I place my
board down along with a wine glass and my newly purchased vino. After
opening the bottle, I pour a glass and bring it to my nose. The smell
of red cherries and plums makes me smile and tasting makes me hum with
satisfaction. I drizzle some of the honey on the Pecorino and take a
bite. The sweet honey with the sharp cheese is almost overwhelming.
Again, I pick up my glass and this time I look upward toward God and I
thank him. Not only for the wonderful bounty that I’m enjoying but for
blessing me with the gift of being in this place at this time surrounded by
such beauty.
Remember, it’s not what’s in the glass that’s important but whom you
share the bottle with that is. ciao e grazie per tutto!
LAVORO D'AMORE 