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.

The Newly Wed and the Nearly Dead

You know you're in a hotel that caters to old people when:

-the first treatment on the spa menu is an age-defying facial, and:

-the make-up mirror in your bathroom is about 12x magnification.  Great for people my age...if you're able to bend over to get within two inches of the mirror.  Otherwise it's all a blur.

It is stunning.  Most of the guests are old, with a few dazed honeymooners thrown in.

And Il Pelicano has a great back story.  Michael Graham, a Brit, was the only survivor of a plane crash in the African bush.  He jumped out of the plane and trusted the trees and bushes to break his fall.  Those who did not jump died.  I think there's a life lesson here.  Patsy Daszel, an American socialite, read the story in the papers, and wanted to meet him someday.  

Some years later, he went to a party in LA, under duress (I suppose after surviving a plane crash what you really want is a good nap.  Or a stiff drink.) She was there and was being courted by Clark Gable.  It was love at first sight.  Between Patsy and Michael, not Clark and Michael.  Good to clear that up.

So when Patsy and Michael were looking for a place to settle down, a friend - a prince, of course - showed them this wild piece of coast, down a twisting road from the fishing village of Porto Ercole (which of course has now become a retreat for wealthy Romans).  A retreat, a place for friends to relax and recharge - and perhaps recover from an indiscretion? or an unpleasant divorce?  

It is still a retreat - one of the Aga Khan's wives - ex, I think - is here.  Grumpy and beautiful.  And old.  I'm guessing the first ex based on her age, but I could be wrong.

It is now the lap of luxury.  Within two seconds of checking in we have booked extra nights.  A swim in the sea,

and thank goodness we did, because the next day the sea was closed.  Too rough.  

Wally dives off the bottom rungs of the sea ladder and nearly becomes the human Costa Concordia.  The scratches down his tummy bear witness.

As we are sipping Prosecco on our terrace a super moon comes up across the sea.  Magic.

Sunset - 

and dinner at their Michelin starred restaurant...   

Every request, no matter how trivial or ridiculous, is met with "Yes, of course!"  And yet Mrs Ex Aga Khan is still grumpy.  I wonder what her life must be like if she can't be happy here. 

The next morning the sea is too rough for swimming.  We drive into Porto Ercole for lunch and a walk down memory lane.  We rented an apartment here years ago.  No posh hotels, a small fishing harbor.  The charm remains.

A jellyfish - a medusa in local parlance - pulses in the shallows of the harbor.

On the waterfront we eat Fritto Misto...

 ...and spaghetti vongole with the locals and the rich Romans.  It's easy to tell them apart,

Some time in the night we have an unwanted visitor.  A mosquito the size of  Fiat.  

 Happy Anniversary, my darling.  In paradise.

 

During the night there is a spectacular thunderstorm.  Seems to be a theme for our anniversary - when we were in Positano at La Sireneuse for an anniversary, there was a thunderstorm that knocked out the power.  Must have been a common thing, the generator kicked in within seconds.  Here the power stays on, and we stay up and watch the lightning fork down to the sea. 

Next morning when it's time to leave we have breakfast on the terrace overlooking the pool under gray and threatening skies.  By the time we're driving away the rain is streaming down and all the dining is indoors.  Lucked out again.

If you have a chance, go.  Il Pelicano is a magical place.

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.  

Differences

Things work a bit differently here.  We reserved a big car (well, big for here; it would probably be eaten by a suburban back home) and when we go to spot # 40 this is what we find.  

The tiniest one.  A car so miniscule you don't so much get in it as put it on.  Like a jacket.  Fortunately our key beeped open the big car next door.  Wrong spot number, but we didn't ask any questions, we just jumped in and zoomed off.  So far so good.

Biking thru the city, trying to find a way out - why are all the streets one way?  And not our way? we ride past a group of old people talking in the middle of a parking lot, the men leaning on bikes, a lady standing next to her car.  Thru sign language and our pidgin Italian we get that we ride up the walls, then down, then make several loops (sign language has its limitations) and we're out.  We hope.

One of the group, an older lady with chestnut brown hair and matching eyebrows has left her car, door open and engine off, blocking a lane in the parking lot.   When a man pulls up behind and honks - once - she waves and says "Si, Si! Ha ragione!" which means "Yes, you're right!"  And she gets back in her car - slowly, remember she's old - and trundles off.  No festival of honking, no screaming, no recrimination.  I can't imagine that happening in the Farmers' Market parking lot in Danville, and it's a lot more crowded here.

We have a washing machine in our apartment, but nobody has a dryer.  I think they must be illegal - it is illegal here to heat your house, except for November thru April, and even then only to 20 degrees.  Celsius, not Fahrenheit - thank goodness.  I wonder - do they have heat police?  We do, however, have lovely air conditioning.  Go figure.

So back to the washer: I look and look for laundry soap, and I finally find a bottle that has a picture of clothes on it.  Yay!  I wash a load - looks pretty good.  Then I start thinking...I found that bottle with the housecleaning supplies.  I open it - sniff - yup.  Bleach.  Oops.  I washed all our clothes with bleach.  But they look okay, and eventually I find a store that sells all kinds of soap, including laundry soap - IperSoap.

One evening as a chatting couple stroll past our table at an outdoor restaurant, somebody in our party says "Hey, I can understand them!"   "Yeah," Wally says.  "They're speaking English."

Sitting at another outdoor cafe (there are lots, and most of them are pretty good) the pigeons are so aggressive they knock over the wineglass of the woman sitting next to us trying to get to her peanuts and potato chips.  We flap them away, and hang on to our peanuts and potato chips.  Altho you should always be suspicious of a potato chip that bends...  As we are sitting and sipping, two people with red flags and Notte di Lucca tee-shirts begin to direct runners - and walkers - to turn the corner by our table.  At first a trickle, then a stream, then a torrent of runners and walkers go by, some in team shirts, some in full race spandex, some in what look like their jammies.  

It's a once a year charity run.  Tourists with strollers think they're being told to turn too, and the narrow street is soon choked with bicycles and strollers and runners, and we laugh and say"This can't get any denser!" and then a car comes.  From the opposite direction.  It gets denser.  But no yelling, no irritation.  I guess if you live in a town with this many tourists you either learn to live with it or you move.  

Part of the genius of Italy is blending the old

with the new. 

 We fit right in.

Cinque Terre

You can do the Cinque Terre in one day, but it's not easy.  We hire Paola to guide us, and when we get to the train station and see the flocks of English and American tourists trying to find their way through the tunnels and to the right platform, we are so happy.  Heck, we wouldn't have found the train station without Paola.  

When we give up our seats to get off in Rio Maggiore and we see the seething mass of humanity trying to get on the train we just got off, we think we've made a terrible mistake.  But Paola walks us thru yet another tunnel into the town:

and thru the maze to the harbor.

And when we get on the next train to the next town, Manarola,  it's not nearly as crowded.

The streets are steep:

And crowded.  But apparently it's worse when the cruise ships are in.  And clearly the staff lives above this sandwich shop - you can tell by the aprons hanging out to dry.

It's a gorgeous day, people are sunning and swimming from the rocks

and the narrow beaches

 You can walk, kayak, train or boat between most of the villages - there was a torrential storm with mudslides in 2012 and the path between Rio Maggiore and Manarola is still closed. 

  We boat and train between the towns, and lunch at Belforte in Vernazza.  Perched high on the rocks above the crowded town, with a fabulous view of the harbor, we dine up three flights of rock and steel stairs, on a rock terrace with a 360 degree view.  

Never would have found it without help, the town is a maze of tunnels and stairs.  Thank you Paola.  

Great food, I don't like anchovies but these were delicious:

and Fritto Misto

 Took this boat to Monterossa al Mare, 

into a beautiful harbor, and a town full of tourists.  The Americans are easy to spot, they look like giant seagulls in squishy white shoes.  

On the way we passed strange looking rental boats - part pedal boat, part water slide - complete with bathing beauties.  It's all about the sea.

On the way home we can see Carrara, the marble mountains rising white like snow covered alps behind the town.  This is where the marble for Michelangelo's David came from, and they waste nothing.  The marble dust is put into the local toothpaste.  And there is a special kind of lard, Colonata, that is mixed with herbs, salt and pepper, and then aged in Carrara marble.  If we see it in the stores we are so trying it.  Wonder what the cardiologists here have to say about it. 

Home to Lucca Lucca.  Exhausted.  Happy.