No Resolutions

Accomplishments.  Not resolutions.  I swear everyone  I know resolves to lose 5 pounds, to exercise more. 

And no one ever does. 

People resolve to spend more time with family, or less time with family, and more with friends.  To quit smoking, to finally start that novel.  And really?  If you wanted to, you would have done it by now. 

Nope, starting last year we are not setting ourselves up for failure, we are looking back at what we have accomplished during this year just past.  So here are some of mine:

I learned the words to Quizas.  In Spanish.  Thanks to my friend Delin who sang them all the way thru Cuba, who inspired me.  And I sing them - loudly - in my car.

I learned to understand Italian.  Despite feeling like a big dummy a lot of the time (not Gina's fault, she is a most encouraging teacher and celebrates every success, no matter how tiny) I stuck with Italian class.  Every Wednesday, rain, shine, or crutches.  And when we went to Lucca I realized I could understand the people walking down the street.  And at the table next to us in the restaurant.  I cried.  The lightbulb finally was on.  I am so proud of myself!

I lost my nerve.  And the tumor that was growing on it.  Hopefully now I can hike pain-free.  So glad I lost my nerve.

I learned not to let it go - I did something massively cringe-worthy humiliating, and I owned up.  It was hard.  It would have been so much easier to pretend it never happened, or it didn't matter.  But it did.  And I did not want to hurt my friend and not own up.   And I didn't want to live with a lie.  My lie. 

So I said I'm sorry. And a lot more.  And my friend forgave me.  Lucky me.

I learned to smile and nod.  Thank you Gossip Girls for pointing that out - I would have missed it.

I got more strips for my Jill Jar.  From the adorable Morris family.  They give me curled strips of beautiful paper with all the things they love about me.   Like "She makes even a cast/boot look chic,"and "She can teach a twelve year old how to make a beautiful Thanksgiving centerpiece."  

Not much teaching there, these girls are seriously talented.

And there are days when this jar saves my life.  Thank You Morrises.

I learned to sketch - again.  I learned to make really good chili.   And I learned what an Oxford comma is, and why it's needed.  Besides the Vampire Weekend song.

What did you do this year? 

Chrono Bike

If you're in Lucca you really should rent a bike and head for the countryside.  It is in the most beautiful part of Italy - take it from someone who has spent a lot of time biking around Italy.  And it's a bike mad town - even the grocery store has a bike in the window.

And if you're going to rent a bike, there's only one place:  Chrono Bikes.  

Right near the Porto San Pietro, they have fabulous Pinarello bikes, outfitted with Campy or Shimano.  If you're a biker, you know what I'm talking about.  If you're not a biker, take my word for it - these are great bikes.  Normally you can't rent bikes of this quality.  If you just want a cruiser to ride around the medieval  town (no cars allowed, altho there seem to be some anyway) they rent those too.  Altho not this fizzy polka dot model....if I were in the market for a town bike, this would be it.  So retro.

I know the bikes are fabulous because I spent the last week riding one, and there was a time (okay, more than one) when I came into a corner a little hot, and I was sure I would lay the bike down, and be listening to my helmet buzzing across the pavement.  Didn't happen.  Not because of my skill, because the bike stuck to the road.  Great bike.  Scared the pee out of me, but that bike saved my bacon.

The guy who owns the store, Paladino, can just look at you and know what size bike you need and exactly how high the seat should be.  

Gets it right first time.  Our friend Michael accidentally got on Paladino's bike instead of the one Paladino had set up for him.  I should tell you that Paladino is a lot taller than Michael, and Michael came back from his test drive saying "Well, either we have to lower the seat, or I'll have to cut off some of my anatomy..."

Paladino cracked up.  So did we.  Got Michael on his own (much shorter) bike, and we were off.

Here is a true fact about biking in Italy:  You Will Get Lost.  

You will have a lovely map, with the names of lots of small towns   You will stop at an intersection to look at the road signs pointing to lots of other small towns.  Unfortunately the towns on your map and the towns on the roadsigns are not even remotely related.  

And none of the street names are on the map, but that's okay because there are very few street signs unless you're inside the walls of  Lucca.  So what.  Wing it.  I promise you'll have a great adventure. 

No matter which way you go the scenery will be spectacular.  

Just try to stay off the Autostrada.  If there's a toll booth, Do Not Take That Road.  Aim for the smallest roads you can find.  They're usually going uphill, but that's where the beautiful small towns are, unspoiled by tourists (so far).

There is something called the Hills of Lucca  and Montecarlo Wine Route - if you're in a car take it.  If you're on a bike, follow the route Paladino has marked on your map...if you can.

Follow these signs.  Usually uphill.  

On teensy roads with no cars I did surprise one goat, but he surprised me more.  And no, this is not the goat.  Be nice.

Because Lucca has no big hotels, no fizzy resorts, the countryside around Lucca isn't overrun by tourists.  So the little towns have real cafes for real people, not souvenir stands full of plastic Pinocchios and postcards, and busloads of tourists.  Just real people living real lives.

We ride into a tiny town just as the church bells are ringing and people are walking to church, as they have for hundreds of years (okay, okay, not these exact people, their ancestors.  Point taken.)

They were ringing real bells in an old stone tower, not the recordings you get in the touristy areas.  It's near Sant'Andrea in Compito.  I know that compito is homework - is she the patron saint of homework?   And has this patron saint thing gotten out of hand?

We ride thru San Quirico, and joke that he must have been the patron saint of nerds.  Quirico, quirky...

Downhill from the church there is a babbling brook:

with an old stone bridge spanning it - just wide enough for two oxcarts to pass. 

The road across the bridge goes nowhere.  We don't care - we are exploring.

Here is another true fact about biking in Italy - if you are passed by some guys who look like they're training for the Tour De France, you're on the right road.  We got passed a lot.  We tried to follow a lot of really fast riders.  And eventually, hot, sweaty and happy,  we made it home.

If you're not up for a road ride, you can ride the 3 mile loop on the top of the walls.  Everyone else does, two wheels:

or four - with two steering wheels - yipes!  Who's driving?

Dads with kids perched on tiny plastic seats - no seat belts.  no helmets...and one hand is clearly busy...usually the other hand is holding a cel phone.  No idea how they do it.  But it all works.

Even the florist delivers by bike.

Go.  Stay in Lucca.  Rent a bike from Chrono and ride.  Take some friends.  We can't wait to go back.  Thank you Mike and Carolyn for the inspiration, for finding the apartment.  Thank you Paladino for the great bikes.  We had a blast.

It's Not What You Think

So I'm sure you were vastly amused by the story of me washing our clothes with bleach...well, it gets better.

At home, the automatic dishwashing soap comes in a little packet that you drop in the soap holder, and flip the flippy closed.   So that's what we did with our teensy automatic dishwasher.

We were on our second load of not very clean dishes when I saw two slightly rumpled but still tightly wrapped packets of soap lying on the bottom on the dishwasher.  Oops.  Now we unwrap them.  At least we're not washing the dishes with bleach.

All the comforts of home - an Apple computer:

(that only speaks Italian)

and a dryer that's a bit different than we're used to:

It's nearly as fast as my Fisher Paykel.  Since clotheslines are illegal where I live, I'm getting one.  

The kitchen is compact:

but has three coffee makers,

A tiny refrigerator, 

full of yummy things from the local shops. 

A minuscule freezer, maybe six inches deep: 

 just big enough for a small bottle of gin.

But the best bakery in Lucca is right next door.  

And with piazzas full of cafes and restaurants every block or two, and that great bakery, who could ask for anything more?

A World Lit Only By Fire

For days there have been cranes putting up iron frames for candles around the windows, doorways and arches of buildings and palaces.  And there are a lot of palaces here.  And arches.

It's the Festival of Volto Santo, and Lucchese from all over the world have come home.  Tonight there will be a candlelight parade, complete with relics (they leave the jeweled cross in the church, however...I think it's an insurance thing).  There will be fireworks you can see from the top of the walls.  Markets in every square.  And if we think it was crowded before, we are told, just you wait.

Guys on ladders and in cherry pickers are lighting candles all evening...

...and our normally crowded street is so dense we can hardly step out from our doorway.  

Believe it or not people are actually biking in this traffic.  I was nearly decapitated by a cyclist when I stuck my head out to see if it was safe to step out.  Michael jokes that bikers in this crowd are either deadly - or dead. 

 The church around the corner glows

The cross leads the parade

Followed by the candles

Along the route the street lights have been turned off, and the procession is by candlelight.  It's eerie - a world lit only by fire.  In these narrow streets it could be 600 years ago.

Except for the flashes from the cameras.  And the costumes.  I don't think they had backpacks in the 1400s.

Lisa's cousin Fioruccio and his boyfriend Paolo take us up on the walls to see the fireworks.  The explosions echo off the walls, the earth shakes.  Now we know what it felt like to be under attack here.

They are spectacular - palm trees and waterfalls of stars that go on and on, white circles of fire that explode in the air to reveal red hearts inside, layers on layers of colors.

It's after midnight when we get home

and find there was a big party in the alley next door.  Glad we saw the fireworks, sorry we missed the party.

Lucca Murabilia

Here's a tip from the middle ages:  if you're not on a hill then you'd better have walls that are thick, sturdy, and tall.   Remember those siege machines?  and the wars between the city states?

Now that the Lucchese are not worried about the invading hordes, but instead welcoming them, charging them for parking, and selling them souvenirs, the top of the walls has been turned into a lovely tree-lined park.  

And once a year, on top of the walls Lucca has a huge garden festival.  Lucca Murabilia.  We're here at just the right time.  

Fruit - flower arranging people, check out this cool display.  If it works for fruit it should work for flowers...

 Hung from fishing line, swaying softly in the breeze.

 There are so many citrus!  Some I've never seen before, some I grow at home.  Sad I can't take some new ones home.

 I find Will Godwin clematis, an old friend.  Thank God for Latin plant names, the universal language of botany.

 There are huge piles of local small- production cheeses, complete with tastings and sales. 

 We buy several that are like nothing I've ever tasted, and I am a cheese hound.  I wrote the names down somewhere...

And the fruit!  Also for sale.  All local, all delicious.  It is the height of peach season, and they are fantastic, like peaches with the volume turned up.

We lunch in a Michelin starred restaurant with locals and their dogs, tourists and their guidebooks.  All presided over by a woman who looks like an aging Paris model in a very tight, very expensive  dress.  Sorry, no photos.  Guess why.

On the way home we wander the streets, in and out of tiny stores, most selling only one thing: bread, wine, cured meats, cheeses.    The best bread in Lucca is right next door, and you can hear the bakers talking and smell the yeast at 4 a.m.  When they roll up the door at 5:45 you can hear the tapping of feet, people calling soft greetings to each other as most of Lucca descends on the shop for their daily bread.

And you have to know the timing:  sweet things come out first, then the delicious bread with hazelnuts and plump raisins.  The focaccia comes out about 10:30 - try the one with zucchini, cheese and poppy seeds.  Carolyn loves the onion.  I'm tempted by something big and glossy and sticky, full of raisins.  We carry paper wrapped loaves home, still warm from the oven.

At a small meat and cheese shop around the corner, a tiny woman is getting her groceries.  We say buona sera, and wait patiently, tempted by the prosciutto hanging from a rack and the stacks of cheeses behind the glass.  But when the butcher brings out a small rabbit, missing only his skin and his innards (oh, and his ears), smacks him on his back on his counter and proceeds to whack at him with a dull cleaver that doesn’t cut him up but only makes  him hop off the counter, we give up and run for home.  

Lucca Lucca

There are two Luccas,  Lucca dentro, inside the ancient walls (the locals call it Lucca Lucca) 

and Lucca Fuore, the Lucca outside the walls; roomier, greener, but with less history and charm. 

Our apartment is on a tiny medieval street in Lucca Lucca: this is out our window.  Note the guy on his telefonino - everyone is always on their telefonino.  On their bikes, in their cars, walking...it's a miracle there are no collisions when the streets fill with pedestrians and bikes (and the occasional car despite the myth that Lucca Dentro is a pedestrian-only zone), all on their phones, but so far so good.

We joke that by law all the shutters are painted dark green.  And all the windows have shutters.  All.  We're in a great location, but being on the first floor (the second to Americans) on such a narrow street, surrounded by four story buildings so close you can almost reach across the street and hold hands with your neighbor, it's a bit dark.  We're in a canyon.

Spacious, modern and comfortable, great kitchen,

and with room for bikes. 

Giusto, the best bakery in Lucca is next door,

So it takes us a while to get going in the morning.

But eventually we get to Chrono bikes - crowded, warm and welcoming, fabulous Pinarello bikes outfitted with Campy for rent, and run by the winner of the Steve Baillie look-alike contest. 

The owner is the fastest mechanic in the west, knows by looking at us our size and seat height, has our pedals on in one minute, maps out routes for us, and we're on our way.  (Apparently he's had customers even older than we are.)

Thankfully there are dozens of cyclists out - the map is a little unclear on how to get out of the city.  But with some help we make it and are in spectacular rolling countryside.

Michael Balaban wants to buy a vowel...who knew there was a village in Italy named for him?

We ride to Lago Montecciuccolo, miss a turn and suddenly it's steep and lorries are thundering by.  

We survive.  Great day.