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!

A typical day

My Dad asked me, "tell me about a typical day." I thought about that. No day is typical yet. Every day is different. There are some consistencies now that we've moved into our house. We have coffee in the morning, Jim goes to work, I walk the dogs, I do various other things that I have a hard time accounting for, Jim comes home from work, we drink wine and eat dinner on the terrace, we go to bed. But that's pretty much what our days were like in Seattle, except that I was more gainfully employed and the weather wasn't reliable enough to eat outside every night. And that description misses the nuances of living in Italy where each day is different and something disturbing, funny, crazy, or heartwarming happens.

Take today for example. I drove Jim to work because I needed the car. I needed the car because after three days at the house I need to come off the hill. You see, my life right now is fairly limited, you might even say it's monastic. The simplicity and solitude is nice, and I enjoy my walks and my time studying Italian, but after three days I need to see and do something different, even if it is just getting groceries in Sarzana. Today, I actually had a few tasks, but before we leave to drive Jim to work, I receive a call from Arturo, the handyman. Amazingly, I manage to understand that he is coming to the house, although I'm not exactly sure why. He wants to come in the morning, but we agree on 3 pm. My first successful phone conversation in Italian.

After dropping Jim off at work, I drive to Lerici and park just outside the no-drive zone. I walk the dogs into town and after several altercations with other dogs, I decide to let the dogs loose on the breakwater, which I had done many times in the past. "Signora. Signora. Signora!" Damn, she's talking to me. I turned. "Lah, lah, lah, lah, cani! Lah, lah, lah, lah non permesso! Lah, lah, lah, lah ...." I don't understand much Italian yet, but I do understood that she doesn't think I should let the dogs off-leash on the breakwater. I put the dogs on leash and walk into town.

I visit our real estate agent in hopes that she can help me figure out the 14-page, 4-part contract that arrived in the mail from the electricity company. Fortunately, Alessia says she will take care of it. A good thing for me, because I had started to translate the forms using Google Translate, but when I got to the part that translated to "this form needs to be filled out by the Chamber of Commerce," I knew I needed help.

Back at the car, I wonder what those papers are under my rear windshield wiper. It can't be a ticket because I parked in this spot many times while living in Lerici. It is a ticket. After wandering around, I see a new sign that says as of today only residents can park here. Crap!

I need to get away and the dogs haven't had much exercise, so I drive to a spot on the Magra River that Bruno and Bella love. It's an estuary full of ducks and Bruno swims after one group until they take flight and then he swims after another. No one is around except a few guys fishing in the river, but a man suddenly appears and starts talking to me. I understand from him that there are lots of ducklings around. He's concerned about the dogs hurting them. I'm feeling a little beat up today, but this man is very nice and I understand his concern. I call in the dogs, and we head for home.

At 3 p.m., as promised, Arturo shows up. He's with another man, who turns out to be an electrician who our landlord has sent to look at the dishwasher, which caught fire last Sunday. Jim and I had been sitting on the terrace when we heard a strange popping noise from inside the house. When I walked into the kitchen, the dishwasher, which we have yet to use because we have only a few dishes, was spewing smoke and sparks. The electrician confirmed that the dishwasher was rotto, broken. The two men leave but not before Arturo hands me a tray of produce from his garden. It weighs about 10 pounds, and the vegetables and herbs are absolutely beautiful. I like Arturo. He's very patient with my limited Italian. If I don't understand him, he just gets closer to me and talks louder. He also loves Bruno. When he called me earlier in the day, he said "Come sta Bruno?" When he arrived, he got down on his knees and pulled Bruno's head into his chest and gently rubbed it.

Jim comes home. We drink a bottle of wine on the terrace and watch the sunset through the pine trees. We have pasta with a sauce of Arturo's fresh vegetables. The end of another typical day.

l'ultimo della strada

Jim and I have been living here for a little more than a week. And while we are eager for our household shipment to arrive, we are also enjoying the pace of life at the end of the road. We have a table and chairs, a bed, a pot and a pan, enough silverware to eat with, a referigerator, and a pantry full of Italian goodies. Really, what more do we need?

For me, this house is a fun departure from our home in Kirkland. From Pacific Northwest woodframe home to Italian country stone farmhouse. There are many contrasts, but the biggest is the size. This house is probably one-third to one-half the size of our Kirkland home. The walls are two feet thick and all of the windows are covered by beautiful wrought-iron grates. Unlike our Kirkland home, which is nestled into a vale, this house sits on the crest of a hill. From this perch, the farmhouse is bright and cooled by a constant breeze. The owner has left much of the artwork and some of the furniture that was in the house, which used to be rented out as a vacation home. Some of the paintings are 400 years old and are dark and foreboding. Beautifully hand-painted ceramics and old maps cover many of the walls. We had the owner leave the two amoires because there are no closets in this house. It will be interesting to see how our Scandinavian-style furniture and Pacific Northwest art and photos fits in with the decor here.


For Jim, this is a wonderful place to come to in the evening after work. It's worth the 30-minute commute to have the solitude and vistas. Half of Jim's commute is just getting up and down the hill that we live on. The other half is a mix of country road, city street, and highway. The most amazing thing is that there is only one stop between here and Jim's work. The European system of roundabouts is impressive. No more sitting at red lights with the engine idling.

This weekend will be our first at the house. Last weekend we drove to Florence to look at a motorcycle and do a little reconnaissance. It boggles our minds: it's a 1-1/2 hour drive to Florence. And because it's so close, we felt little pressure to see the sites. In fact, we only visited one site (the Baptistery), and then spent the rest of our time walking around, getting our bearings, and, of course, eating.

Next week our household shipment arrives. There are a number of things that we are eager to have, but mostly we just want to get unpacked and finished with this transition so that we can get on with living in Italy.

Leaving Lerici

Tuesday morning I load our few belongings into our car and drive from Lerici to our new home near Falcinello. It's fortunate that we don't have much to move, because Jim is at sea and because Lerici has a no-drive zone for visitors in the summer and we are parked just outside that zone, about 200 yards up the road. I want to ignore this restriction, but the cameras at the beginning of the zone prevent me from tempting a ticket. Everyone has told us that if you try to sneak into the zone, you should expect a ticket in the mail in 3 to 6 months.

It takes me over two hours to ferry our baggage up to our recently purchased 2002 VW station wagon, "Dora." The last load includes Bella and Boomer, who squeeze into the remaining space.

Lerici was the perfect place to spend our first six weeks in Italy. Jim commuted to work by bus; I walked everywhere. The village was beautiful, the people were generally friendly despite being overrun by tourists, and our landlords were wonderful. But the location had its challenges. The dogs couldn't leave the apartment without being on leashes, particularly after Boomer was caught with the owner's prized turtle in his mouth in our bedroom! Walking the dogs was acrobatic at times, trying to maneuver the two of them away from people, dogs, food and tidying up after them. (You can't really appreciate how much dogs poop until you have to pick up every one of these gifts!) Also, it was clear that we weren't going to get used to the noise. The buses, the two-stroke engines, the loud TVs were too much for our spoiled suburban-American ears.

Driving the road to our new home was like doing yoga. I feel my body relax and my mind empty. The road up here has me laughing; although not everyone would find it funny. It's so narrow in places that it's challenging for one car to get through. The switchbacks are so tight and the road forks in so many places that frequently the main road disappears until the last second. Fortunately, there is little traffic. It takes me 12 minutes to drive the length of Via Prulla. When I can drive no farther, I park the car and let the dogs out. We are home.


I've spent the last two days marveling at the 1900-built, recently renovated farmhouse and the surrounding views. The house sits on a hillcrest. To the south is our nearest neighbor who has a lovely villa with swimming pool and friendly old German shephard. To the east, houses with red tile roofs are sprinkled throughout the forested hills. To the north is a beautiful grove of pines with an inviting trail that has yet to be explored. To the west, expansive views of the sea and the town of Sarzana below. The property has eight olive trees, which is enough to harvest and press for our own supply. It also has fig, pear, apple, and cherry trees. The parking area has a 3-foot-high hedge of rosemary that Boomer must be peeing on because he smells like the herb, and dill and oregano are sprouting up everywhere. There are signs of owl and wild boar, which is a delicacy in this area, and yesterday I saw a raptor fly low over the house.

Our friend, Jim Pollock, used to have a saying about his magnificent home overlooking Lake Washington: "Is this a little slice of heaven or what?" In fact, he said it so much that a friend turned it into an acronym so that it was quicker to say: ITALSOHOW. That's how I'm feeling now and as I write am realizing that the acronym almost spells "Italy." Maybe I can work a "Y" into Jim's saying! "Is this a little yard of heaven or what?" Bella and Bruno think so!

La Spezia and the Maritime Festival

La Spezia, the town that Jim works in, is a ship-building, shipping, and naval town. The town and surrounding area have been a naval stronghold for millennia. Because of its military value, the Allied Forces leveled La Spezia, making it the third most bombed city in Italy during WWII. In the early 1800s, Napolean built up the naval fortifications in this area after he created the short-lived Ligurian Republic. Before that, the Genoese and Pisans built castles and fortifications along this coast to stake their claims. And before that it was the Greek and Roman navies fighting it out for the land along the sea.

The town of La Spezia isn't particularly attractive by tourist standards, perhaps because it has very little old city, but it's a pleasant town with a thriving Tuesday market, broad tree-lined avenues, and wide sidewalks covered by large porticos.

La Spezia's Maritime Festival was nearly two weeks ago. As part of the festival, we toured the Italian navy's tall ship: Amerigo Vespucci. Built in 1930 as a school ship, the Vespucci is 330-feet-long with a steel hull and three masts. It's 30 km of rigging is all in traditional hemp rope, except for the docking lines which are synthetic to meet port standards. With 26 traditional canvas sails and a full gale, it can reach 12 knots per hour. This is a beautiful ship tied up at the dock. Just imagine what it would look like under full sail!

The festival had other ships of interest, from the world's largest mobile crane to dozens of ancient ship replicas that teams from all over Italy brought to La Spezia to compete against one another.

Many tourists come to La Spezia but only to catch the train or boat to the Cinque Terre. Because there are so few tourists and because of its military-industrial flavor, it feels like the real Italy.