Motorcycle nirvana

I need to write about our October visit to southern Italy--Pompeii was fantastic and Rome is my new favorite city--but right now, my thoughts are in a purely self-indulgent place, and I'm more interested in writing about our new motorcycles than anything else.

As many of you know, Jim and I got into motorcycling recently. It had an altruistic beginning. I wanted to start riding a scooter to and from work (25-miles round trip) because I felt guilty about driving a 5-passenger, gas-guzzling car every day. At one point in my life, I was a regular bicycle commuter, but with dogs to keep exercised on long walks every morning, I didn't have enough time to add in a 2-hour bike commute. Public transportation options were abysmal from our suburban home. It would take me three buses and nearly 2-hours one way to work, including about 1-1/2 miles of walking. A scooter seemed like a reasonable alternative, and of course, it sounded fun. So, in the spring of 2008 while Jim was in the Arctic, I signed up for a motorcycle instruction course and started looking at Vespas and the like. When Jim returned home, and I told him about the class, he said "Great, when are WE taking it?" That's when I knew I wouldn't be buying a little scooter.

Two weeks after we finished our class, we bought a 1994 BMW K75. We were so new at this, that we didn't even dare to take it for a test drive, but rather had the owner deliver it to our house. Our first rides were around our neighborhood. I spent a lot of time in the local elementary school parking lot and then driving to and from work. I learned a lot in the first few months of commuting, including that I can pick up a 500+ pound motorcycle that I've dropped in front of my Mom. Despite being a bit big for me, the K75 was a great beginner bike. It was a very easy bike once I was underway, and with three inline cylinders, it was smooth but not overpowered. The only problem was we needed another bike so that we could ride together.

Before we found that other bike, we decided to move to Italy. We figured that Italy was full of motorcycles that we could buy, so we sold the K75 and started looking for bikes after we arrived. But, there were complications. First, whatever we bought would have to be sold before we left for the U.S. since we couldn't import motorcycles with European specs. Second, it was difficult to set up meetings, let alone negotiate, with our limited Italian. Finally, we would have to go through a tortuous licensing process to get used Italian bikes exported from Italy and imported into the Armed Forces Italy licensing system, a requirement for all of our vehicles while Jim works for NATO. Jim was frustrated with all of the hurdles, so he started investigating BMW's military sales program and discovered that we could buy new discounted bikes and avoid paying tax until we import them into the U.S. Although new BMW bikes aren't cheap, the deal was pretty enticing. After a bit of debate, we ordered two new bikes in August.

Jim will want me to disclose that it wasn't his idea to buy enduro bikes (off-road/on-road), but rather my insistence on buying the F650GS "forced him" into buying his 1200GS. Jim probably would have bought a sport or touring motorcycle, but since a co-worker first suggested the F650GS to me, I've had my heart set on it, not because it's a beautiful bike (the Moto Guzzi Breva 750 is a beautiful bike), but because the F650GS was right for me. I like the size and weight of the bike, and I like the notion that I can drive anywhere that I have the willingness to go.

Two months after we placed our order, our bikes were ready. Coincidentally, the pick-up date was the day after Jim's birthday, so the last weekend in October, we drove to Germany in a rental van and collected the bikes. No surprise, but Jim and I always feel a bit out of place when we go into a BMW dealership. This time was no different. It probably didn't help that we had camped in the van with Bella and Bruno in front of the dealership Sunday night. Despite our disheveled appearance, they were very kind to us, giving us coffee, loading our bikes into our van for us, and sending us off with a bottle of champagne. Around midnight Monday night we unloaded the bikes at our home.

The instructions in our manuals for breaking in the bikes say "Try to do most of your riding during this initial period on twisting, fairly hilly roads...." If you know where we live, you will find this instruction funny. I can count nine hairpin turns on the 3-mile road from town (sea level) to our house (1,500 feet). For our inaugural ride on Saturday, we spent 20-minutes negotiating some traffic near town, and then we drove 40 miles following the Vara River to the medieval town of Varese Ligure. The back roads here are a dream to ride: empty, twisty, and incredibly scenic. In Varese Ligure, we walked around, had a cappuccino, and then rode home, enjoying the sunshine and the fall colors. Late Sunday afternoon, we drove up into the hills above our house on gravel and small paved roads. We drove to the end of a long ridge and stopped to enjoy the view over the local mountains, the Apennines, which were bathed in light from the full moon. We are in motorcycle nirvana.

Visiting a Friend in Vicenza

I've been having too much fun to blog. After our weekend in Florence, we went to Vicenza, a 3-1/2-hour drive northeast of here. Our friend Susan Pollock was on a tour of Palladio's architectural works, so we decided to meet up with her. Then, for the last week or so, we've been travelling with two of Jim's sisters, Marilynn and Alice: first, to Sorrento for four nights, and then to Rome for five. We saw so much, yet we've barely skimmed the surface of what Rome has to show us. It's clear we will need to make many trips to Rome to delve deeper. But first, Vicenza....

The northern town of Vicenza was another nice surprise. Parma, Verona, Vicenza...we are learning to love these mid-sized agricultural, industrial Italian cities. They are all prosperous and have been for a long time. Their old towns are nicely preserved, the streets are clean, and the arts and restaurant scene is vibrant. We'd never heard of Vicenza before we moved to Italy, but Susan's trip gave us an opportunity to visit a city that we might have just passed through on our way to Venice. In addition to not knowing anything about Vicenza, we knew next to nothing about Andrea Palladio. Palladio was the focus of Susan's trip, which was specially arranged for her and a group of her travelling friends.

Our day travelling with Susan and her group, who generously let us crash their tour, reminded us of the benefits of a good guide. We spent the day walking around Vicenza with a local expert learning about Palladio and High Renaissance architecture.

Among many things, Palladio is famous for the villas that he designed for wealthy Venetians who had summer homes in Vicenza and the surrounding area. Like the great Renaissance artists, Palladio traveled to Rome to study what the Romans had learned from the Greeks, techniques that were lost during the middle ages. In particular, he learned how to make houses less expensive using brick and stucco where marble had previously been used. (Brick and concrete construction was for all practical purposes lost during the middle ages until Renaissance architects--most importantly Brunelleschi--started studying Roman construction, particularly the Pantheon.)

One of Palladio's most famous works is La Rotonda, which we visited with Susan's group. La Rotonda was a "pleasure palace" for a retired priest who wanted a place outside of Vicenza where he could throw the types of wild and lavish parties that were common among the Catholic elite before the Reformation. The hallmark features of Palladio's country villas are integration with the surroundings, a symmetrical plan, and the use of extended porticos and a dome. In the case of La Rotonda, which sits on the crest of a hill, the design is a symmetrical square capped by a dome and four porticos that extend on each side. You'll recognize La Rotonda, because it is the basis for many lavish homes in the United States, for example, Thomas Jefferson's home at Monticello.

Palladio's last work, which was completed after he died, was the Teatro Olimpico. We really have never seen anything like this theater, which is a replica of a Roman theater housed inside a medieval building. The set uses a series of trompe-l'oeil panels to give great depth to the stage, which is only a few meters deep. Our visit to the Teatro was certainly a highlight of our visit, but the real point of the visit was to get to see Susan. We enjoyed lunch with her and in the evening an aperitivo at the beautiful Hotel Villa Michelangelo where she was staying, and then Sunday she and her group were off to explore more of Palladio's works, while Jim and I visited two nearby villages: Marostica, the site of a biannual chess game where humans and horses are the chess pieces, and Bassano del Grappa, center of grappa production. Grappa is a grape-based brandy that is made from the leftovers of the wine making process. Jim and I are not fans, but based on the crowds of people drinking grappa for breakfast the Sunday we visited Bassano, quite a few folks seem to like this spirit.

More pictures of our weekend are on Facebook.

Treasure Hunt

Armed with our GPS, a set of coordinates, 10 euros, and a couple of spoons, we headed to Florence over the weekend. The treasure hunt was sponsored by our friends Perri and Jim, who gave us a card with the coordinates, money, and spoons as a departure gift when we left Seattle. I had deduced that we were on a mission sacred to Italians and many who visit Italy: the perfect gelati.

Simply put, gelato is Italian ice cream, but technically it's not ice cream, at least not by U.S. government standards, which require a 10% minimum of milk fat to carry the name. With roughly 7% milk fat and no eggs, gelato is the lighter cousin of American ice cream, which I think makes sense, because Italians do not seem to like overly sweet desserts. However, the reduced fat in gelato doesn't mean it's not creamy. The best gelato are like silk on your tongue, often punctuated with little bursts of fruit, chocolate, or nut flavor. The purist might chose the smooth fior di latte (flower of milk), but the more adventurous might try the chunky stracciatella (fior di latte with chocolate bits) or bacio (a hazelnut chocolate combination and also the Italian word for "kiss"). But you never see Italians eating only one flavor. And when we've ordered one flavor, the clerk is always surprised, probably because there are such great flavors to marry: pineapple and coconut, coffee and mango, or cherry with chocolate chunks and almond.

Florence is considered to be the birthplace of gelato (17 C.), and according to some, the best gelato in Italy can be found here. Perri and Jim obviously had a gelateria in Florence that they wanted us to try. So at the end of a day of sightseeing, we marched into town with GPS, euros, and spoons in hand. It was exciting to walk the maze of streets and watch the arrow (us) get closer to the destination (gelato!). We turned the corner, and on the edge of a miniscule piazza was a gelateria with a line of patrons. Bingo! The rest was simple. We had been told to order "riso, if available" which we did, and we sat down in front of the nearby church and licked, slurped, and sucked the pure white concoction, enjoying the little chunks of rice in the mix.

Mission accomplished!

Gran Paradiso, a climb in the Italian Alps

It's been a busy few weeks. There was the Sarzana antique festival, a two-week street fair of antique vendors, artists, and food stalls. Jim participated in the Barga bike ride while I took the dogs for a hike in the Alpi Apuane. We attended a medieval festival in the nearby medieval village of Filleto with some of Jim's co-workers. Our friends Keith and Shay visited us from Seattle. And last weekend, Jim took a day off work, and we spent a long weekend in the Alps.

Since this was Jim's first day off since starting work in May, I left it up to him to decide where we would go. He decided that we should climb Gran Paradiso, the only 4,000-meter peak that is entirely within Italy. Ugh...I knew this was going to hurt. And more than that, I wasn't sure that this was a good idea since we hadn't climbed anything in over 5 years. I put up a weak fight and then relented when Jim said "let's just go up there and give it a try." Well, why not?

"Up there" is the Val d'Aosta, a place Jim and I had visited twice before. I'd forgotten how beautiful this area is and how rich in history. The Romans were in Aosta because it was the jumping off point to get over the Alps, but before the Romans there was a Celtic-Ligurian people who populated the area. I have no idea how the Celts from the north and the Ligurians, which is the region we live in, got together, but they must have been a hardy breed because the Romans had difficulty subduing them. Even today, the people of the valley are very independent and have an autonomous government. The official languages of Val d'Aosta are Italian and French, and in addition to climbing, skiing, and other outdoor activities, the area is known for its small-scale high-quality wineries, excellent dairy products, and wood- and metal-working.

The last time Jim and I were in Aosta was 1997, when we made an unplanned visit after completing the WNW face of Dent d'Herens. This was a climb we had unsuccessfully attempted in 1993, the summer we lived in Zermatt, Switzerland. Dent d'Herens straddles the Swiss-Italy border next to the Matterhorn, but unlike the Matterhorn, it's rarely climbed. The WNW face is a steep, narrow glacier, and once we reached the summit, we felt that we needed more gear and two ropes to safely descend. Jim asked me "did you bring any money?" I told him that I had brought my credit card ("don't leave home without it"), and we decided to climb down the Italian side of the mountain (an easier route) and make our way back to Zermatt using public transportation. We hiked all night into Italy through a raging thunderstorm. We stopped once to sleep, huddling together on the narrow porch of a small church until we were too cold to sleep. When we finally reached the trailhead, we started hitchhiking. The first car that passed (a tiny Fiat) picked us and our gear up. The woman was an architect who worked in Aosta, and she drove us to the train station, where we found an ATM. I remember plodding around Aosta in my plastic climbing boots and smelly, heavy climbing clothes, surrounded by lightly dressed, well groomed locals. We felt alien. Two bus rides later, we were in Breuill Cervinia, the Italian village at the base of the Matterhorn. A series of cable car rides brought us back to Zermatt, 24 non-stop hours after leaving the summit.

Our climb of Gran Paradiso last weekend was simpler. After spending the morning in Aosta, we drove to the village of Pont (6,843 feet). From here, it's a 2 to 3 hour hike to Victor Emmanuale II Rifugio, where we ate dinner and spent the night. We woke at 4 am, ate breakfast, and started the climb. Although the standard route was out of shape, and we were forced to take a less direct, rockier route, the conditions couldn't have been better. The full moon illuminated our route until the sun rose, the temperatures had dropped so the glacier was firm, and the skies were completely clear. We had strong winds on the approach but they abated throughout the day. Even the crowds weren't too bad on this popular climb.

We were slow on the ascent, but we weren't the last to reach the summit (13,323 feet) and enjoy the views of the Alps: the Matterhorn, Monte Rosa, Monte Blanc, Grande Jorasse. It was so clear it felt like you could see the entire chain from the Mediterranean to the Adriatic. We left the summit around noon and got back to our car about 8 pm. It was a long day, and 3 days after the climb, our legs are still tender and we are walking like mummies with a stair phobia.

To see a mix of pics from the last few weeks, you can visit my Facebook album.

Tosca in the Verona arena

When I heard about the annual summer opera series that is held in the Roman arena in Verona, I knew I could convince Jim to go with me. He wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to sit in the same arena as the proletariat who watched gladiatorial combats and mock battles. Finished in 30 AD, the arena in Verona is the third largest Roman coliseum, after Rome and Naples. The opera series this year includes Carmen, Aida, The Barber of Seville, Turandot, and Tosca. I wanted to see a Puccini opera because he lived in the nearby towns of Lucca and Viareggio. That narrowed it down to Turandot and Tosca. I queried our friend Jim B. who is an opera buff, and he described Tosca as "a tawdry little thing. A simple, lurid story with fabulous arias, and it is short, relatively speaking." Tawdry, lurid, and short...even Jim should like this!

Verona is a 2-1/2 hour drive from here on the autostrada. Verona, like many of the northern Italian cities, is very prosperous, so it is well preserved and maintained and has nice shopping districts with great restaurants and a lively arts scene. There is a lot to see and do in Verona in addition to the opera, but we found the best part of Verona was just riding our bicycles around the old town. We did stop in and visit the Basilica of San Zeno. Built mostly in the 12th century, it is the most ornate Romanesque church in northern Italy, with a beautiful wooden ceiling that replicates a boat's keel and a number of original frescoes, some of which have ancient graffiti etched into them. One guy had carved his name in a fancy script in 1755. The body of San Zeno--patron saint of Verona--is on display in the crypt. Creepy, but quite common in European churches.

For the opera, we had bought the cheap seats. It's festival seating on the highest marble steps, which will set you back about $45. The seating on the floor of the arena costs anywhere from $100 to $250. The atmosphere in our area was more like a baseball game than an opera with folks casually dressed and vendors selling cold drinks and renting cushions. This was in contrast to the scene on the floor, where wine was being served to women and men wearing their finest. The opera, which is in three acts, started at 9 and finished at 11:30. The short story of Tosca is that she tries to save her imprisoned lover by striking a deal with the general who lusts for her and holds her lover captive. She kills the general after she believes the deal is sealed, but the general, never had any intention to spare her lover. Tosca's lover is killed by a firing squad, and Tosca then jumps to her death as they come to arrest her for the general's murder. Not the most uplifting story, but the set was fascinating, the orchestra was fantastic, and, despite the size of the venue and no amplification, the singers voices magically found their way to our remote ears and, at times, with force! I had a wonderful time, and Jim conceded that he was willing to see another opera, but it had to be The Barber of Seville because of some connection with Bugs Bunny.

After I shot my obligatory Bella-and-Bruno-go-to-[famous town in Europe] photo, we drove home with a detour to the Valpolicella wine producing region near Lake Garda. Our guidebook suggested lunch in the tiny hamlet of San Giorgio. It was a good recommendation. We ordered a mixed plate of meats and cheeses and a half carafe of Valpolicella. We sat alone on a terrace overlooking the vineyards with Lake Garda in the distance and let some of Sunday afternoon slip away.

A few events

With the house shipment over, we are more able to travel about and do things. Last weekend, we drove an hour from here up into the Apennine mountains. This mountain range is small compared to the Alps, but is still impressive with 9,000-foot peaks, a number of ski areas, and a whole lot of marble mines. I've decided marble is to Italy like wood is to the U.S. Everything here is made of marble: floors, tables, window sills, base boards, countertops, sinks, tubs. In fact, Jim pointed out to me the other day that our driveway is made from crushed bits of marble! Marble isn't used structurally, like wood is in American homes, but it is used ornamentally everywhere. It is particularly common in this area because of the Carrara marble mines just south of us. (Remember the opening chase scene in the James Bond movie Quantum Solace? That's shot in the Carrara marble mines.) Our hike took us above the mines and the tree zone, and we walked an empty trail, most of which was on a stone road that could have only been built by the Romans, who also liked this area for its marble. We hiked to a pass where we had beautiful views of the Mediterranean below.

We also recently went to a concert in Lucca. Each summer the beautiful walled city of Lucca hosts a locally famous concert series. This year's lineup included Burt Bacharach, Dave Mathews Band, James Taylor, John Fogarty, and others. We decided to go see Moby, who's electronically produced music is a favorite of ours; it always seems to find its way into our slide and video shows. We were curious what the Lucca concert scene would be like, and we were interested in seeing how Moby's electronic music would be performed live. The concert scene was wonderful with a small crowd of about 2,000 in the immense, tree-lined Piazza Napoleone, which could have handled 10,000. It was beautiful star-filled night, and Moby come on the stage with his all-female band, except a token male drummer. In addition to the drummer and a bass player, he was supported by two violinists, who looked like young graduates of Juilliard's, and two awesome female vocalists who more than made up for Moby's very average voice. They played dance music for two hours, and the crowd obliged.

Our most recent outing was last Thursday. Neighbors who are interested in helping us learn Italian invited us to a dinner at an agriturismo. Agriturismos are Italian farms that offer accommodation and food. If you've never heard of agriturismos and you come to Italy, you must check them out. They range from rustic to rather elegant, and they can be wonderful places to stay at an excellent value. Most of them are working farms and many of them are wine producers, like the agriturismo that we went to for dinner. We joined about 30 people who are members of a dinner club for this six-course, five-hour meal, which included three varieties of the owner's wine. As much as we enjoyed the food and wine, Jim and I enjoyed listening to the lively discussions at the table. At one point, after a particularly long heated discussion, Jim turned to our neighbor Sonia and asked what they were talking about. He was sure it was politics or religion because of the passion around the discussion. No, Sonia said calmly, they are discussing how big the pieces of meat should be in a ragu sauce. Of course!

Moved In!

After resolving a problem with Italy customs, our household shipment arrived on July 20, three weeks after moving into our house. I think I wrote in an earlier blog that I didn't mind living without our stuff because our lives were simple and we were content. But after about 10 days, that feeling wore off and we were anxious to get our things. It was the little stuff that I wanted and needed: a garlic press, the dog nail trimmers, a change of sheets, my Italian cookbook. We also needed our bikes so that if Jim drove to work, I had a way to get off the hill, and if I needed the car, he could ride into work.

The unpacking went well after the movers found our house. This is becoming a common problem, and I'm having to learn phrases such as "the very end of the road," "the last house on the paved road," and "follow the signs for Via Prulla 72-76." You see, our address according to the owner is Via Prulla 1/A. It makes sense because our neighbor, who built this house, has a number 1 on her gate, but apparently the city has recently renumbered all of the houses, and we are no longer 1/A, although that is what's on every contract and document we've signed. Our neighbor's new number is 76, so we are either 77 or 76/A, but no one seems to know or care. I talked to the postman, and he says he will deliver the mail to us for 1/A, so now I just need to learn how to tell people to get here.

It took most of a week to get unpacked and set up. We're mostly satisfied with the 8,000+ pounds of gear that we chose to bring with us (fortunately we didn't bring the 12,000 pounds we originally planned); however, given this particular house, we should have left behind more of our photos and brought a chainsaw and our gas-powered weed trimmer instead. It's strange to see our furniture in this Italian farmhouse, but we are very comfortable, as this picture of Jim shows, and we are now accepting reservations for our spare bedroom!