Sicily with Cleo and Caesar

The autostrada from our home to Genoa can be summed up like this: tunnel, bridge, tunnel, bridge, tunnel, bridge, .... It’s an intimidating 2-hour ride for me on my motorcycle. In addition to the discontinuity of the alternating tunnels and bridges, there is often heavy traffic around Genoa, or worse yet, there can be extremely high winds that funnel up off the Mediterranean into the narrow valleys spanned by the bridges. I had to exit this stretch of road one time because it was so windy that I was being blown all over the bridges. Nothing that anyone told me about Sicily (bad crime, dangerous drivers, floods of immigrants from northern Africa) had me as worried as this short stretch of highway from our house to the ferry. I fretted for days about whether I would be able to handle the bike if the winds were strong. But when we left Friday evening there was no wind and we had a calm, quiet ride in the twilight of a clear April evening. Two hours after leaving our home, we, along with our motorcycles Cleopatra and Caesar, were at the ferry terminal waiting to board for our week-long Sicilian vacation.

It’s a 20-hour ferry ride from Genoa to Palermo. Italian ferries are generally big and comfortable, making the long Mediterranean passage easier. Not much to do but relax and plan our trip, which we’d done very little of. Armed with maps and guidebooks, we drank our espressos and decided we would focus on the ancient Greek and Carthaginian ruins that are in the western half of the island: Segesta, Selinunte, and Agrigento. We also wanted to throw in a little Norman splendor at the Monreale Cathedral (the Norman’s controlled Sicily for most of the 12th Century), sample marzipan sweets in the medieval hilltown of Erice, tour the Phoenician ruins at Mozia (8th to 4th C. BC), spend a day poking around Syracuse, and climb Mt. Etna.

First we had to deal with Palermo. We were both nervous about our late-night arrival and navigating this notorious city with our loaded bikes. Many had cautioned us to watch out for crazy driving and nefarious types, but our biggest problem was finding our hotel. Jim was incredibly frustrated with his GPS, which sent us in circles around the city, a city bustling with Saturday night traffic and pedestrians. I struggled to keep up with Jim as he weaved his way through the city’s maze of one-way streets and alleys. At first, I was hesitant about the traffic, but as I cut off another car in order to keep up with Jim, I realized that what felt like chaotic, aggressive driving was really not that threatening. All bark, but no bite. I decided to employ the highly effective Italian driving strategy: If I don’t look at you, then you don’t exist.

After a lot of swearing from Jim who had the burden of navigating and a lot of unhelpful comments from me, like “Haven’t we been here before?”, we finally found our hotel. Jim went to check in and find out where we could safely park the bikes only to learn that a water pipe had broken, making our room uninhabitable. Not to worry though, because they’d booked us in another room...across town! Fortunately, we had better luck finding the Hotel Plaza Opera, and approximately two hours after our arrival in Palermo and precisely 1 km from the ferry terminal, we were checked into our room.

All of our frustration dissipated when we sat down for dinner at Capricci di Sicilia. We then realized that the traffic wasn’t as crazy as everyone had warned, the food was as good as we had heard, and the people were gregarious and welcoming. And in the seven days we spent riding around the island, nothing changed our minds about Sicily. The longer we stayed there,

the more we liked it. In addition to good food and friendly people, the archaeological sites are impressive, the terrain is beautiful, and the riding is fantastico! Downsides to the trip? A lot of unusually cool, wet weather and a sandstorm out of Africa on our last day of riding; no climb of Etna, whose upper reaches were off limits because of volcanic activity; not enough time to visit all of the places we had hoped to visit. We’d be happy to return.

And as for the trip home: tunnel, bridge, tunnel, bridge, tunnel, bridge...

A slideshow of our trip:

Sicily Motorcycle

Battle of the Oranges

We should have read more about the Ivrea festival before we went, but a mock battle that pits neighborhoods against each other sounded like fun. From the crowds of Italian's streaming into town, old and young alike, we would have never known the danger that lurked ahead. Why are they all wearing red caps and why is that banner promoting death?

Upon arrival in the old town, we watched a parade that featured knights on horseback, floats with candy throwing festival queens, bands, and groups of people in fine period costumes. We also got our first clue about the mock battle: horse drawn carts were carrying fully armed warriors, who were wearing American football pads under their coordinated jerseys and who had face masks that a Canadian hockey goalie would be proud to wear.

The parade ended, and we followed the crowd and the noise. We entered a piazza, which was packed full of people and the strong scent of orange. Our jaws dropped as we watched the horse-drawn carts slowly work their way around the piazza one at a time. The dozen or so people in the cart and the hundreds in the piazza were engaged in all out war. The weapons? Oranges, of course!

Jim moved closer to the action with his camera exposed (veteran photographers come with their camera gear wrapped in plastic), but I smartly stayed at the edge watching the battle from a distance and getting good views of pulp-encrusted soldiers leaving the field. Was that blood or blood oranges?

After an hour of observing this bizarre event, we decided to leave. I said to Jim, "I want to go closer to the center of the piazza to see the carnage while there aren't any carts here." Just as we got to the center another cart entered. It was exhilarating to be so close to the action, but I finally wimped out and started to seek safer ground.

As I turned back once more to see the action, I took an orange to the left eye. My glasses were flattened to my face and covered with pulp! I grabbed Jim and told him I was wounded. He took me to the red cross tent where I received ice for my injury and the condolences of the medical team. (The other patient was suffering from alcohol abuse and was being treated with an IV! As you might imagine, there is a lot of alcohol involved to bolster the courage of the troops.)

Had I done my research before going to the festival, I would have bought a red hat. Almost every spectator was wearing one because it protects you from getting hit by an orange. My hat was blue.

Here is a video clip that Jim took. The gasping noise followed by laughter is Jim getting an orange to the stomach!

Motos, Race Cars, and Rain

It's been a long time since we took this two-week motorcycle trip, our first ever. Probably best at this point to just copy down a few notes from my journal and add some of Jim's photos. Even with persistent rain, this trip was a highlight of 2010. There's nothing like the freedom of the road, and one could argue that there are no better roads than in France.

Saturday, June 5, Home to Alessandria, Italy
Awesome ride!!!
Overnight train from Alessandria to
Amsterdam on the Dutch Auto Slaap.

Sunday, June 6, Den Bosch to Amsterdam, Netherlands
Belgium rider gave us a fantastic route along the canals into Amsterdam.
Camping Gaasperplatz
Sbirie Coffeeshop
Indian dinner

Monday, June 7, Amsterdam
Van Gogh Museum
Dolphin Coffeeshop
Indonesian restaurant
Amsterdam: small town feel

Tuesday, June 8, Amsterdam to Bruges, Belgium
Surrealistic trip along the coast with classic and modern windmills and lots of wind to power them.
ARGH...nothing works. Garmin sucks!!

Wednesday, June 9, Bruges
Fabulous Mr. Fix It strikes again! (Computer can now charge.) Lisa books a night at the Bauhaus Hostel because Bruges looks cool. Took a tour with Kie from Brooklyn. Not much info but very funny!
Jim on Amsterdam and Bruges: "I have hit my Holy Grail of beer."

Thursday, June 10, Bruges to Liseaux, France
Rode all day in the rain, fog, and wind. At the grocery store in Liseaux, the skies opened up. We rode to the nearest decent hotel and checked in.

Friday, June 11, Liseaux to Le Mans
Wonderful ride from Liseaux to Le Mans. Arrived at Speed Chills campground early afternoon. Set up, provisioned in town, and then started to party. There are serious car racing fans here, and they've all brought their pride and joys. Never seen anyone camping with a Ferrari before!

Saturday, June 12, Le Mans
3 pm race start...GOOSEBUMPS!!
Porche curves, Dunlop bridge, start of the Moulson Straights.

Sunday, June 13, Le Mans
Audi, audi, audi. It was Peugeot's race to lose and they did. German diesels...buy them.

Monday, June 14, Le Mans to Rochechouart
Waves of showers passing through with intermittent sun breaks and awesome roads. Is there any part of France that isn't beautiful?

Tuesday, June 15, Rochechouart to Sarlat-la-CanedaEnroute visited the prehistoric cave of Lascaux, a re-creation. The real cave was closed in the 60s. An amazing replica and tour. Arrived at the campground in Sarlat in steady rain. Internet access...all is well.

Wednesday, June 16, Sarlat
Rained all night. Rode to Grotte de Font-de-Gaume to get rare tickets to see a real prehistoric cave. Cave was bigger with more spectacular geologic features. Made us realize the value of Lascaux, "The sistine chapel of prehistoric art" as our tour guide called it. Talked Jim into staying another night because the rain was so persistent. Had a great lunch of duck foie gras and comfit. Rich! Delicious!

Thursday, June 17, Sarlat to Gorges de le Loire
Threatened rain most of the day with a few sunbreaks. Rode beautiful roads all day. Slow country lanes and fast newly paved county roads. Dropped into the Loire Valley on this unbelievably twisty, steep, empty road through the woods. Lovely!

Friday, June 18, Gorges de la Loire to Rochetaillee
More beautiful country roads.

Saturday, June 19, Rochetaille to Chiamale, Italy
Rained in the morning. Finished my book, "The Art of Racing in the Rain." Left around 11 am on dry roads. Some of the most beautiful riding we've done. Beautiful alpine areas, amazing gorges, and lots of twisties. Wildflowers to knock your socks off!

Sunday, June 20, Chiamale to Home
Woke to the rain around 5 am. Woke to snow around 7 am. Didn't let up, so we packed up and rolled out. Cold, cold hands. Couldn't have done it without heated grips. Made Jim exit the highway at Genoa. Couldn't handle the strong, gusty winds.

See more pictures from the trip.

And now the start of the 2010 24-Hours of Le Mans...

Elba, A Gem of an Island

With Jim finding a lull in his work, we decided to take a last-minute trip to the Dolomites, but an offer from a friend to house- and dog-sit and a crummy mountain forecast made us re-evaluate our plans. We pulled out the list of "100,000 Things We Want To Do Before We Leave Italy" and found a suitable destination for early September: a circumnavigation by kayak of Elba Island.

You, like my Mom, probably remember that Elba Island was where Napoleon was exiled when he first got into trouble, pre-Waterloo. This was a pretty nice exile and Napoleon kept busy in 1814 by instituting social and economic reforms for the residents of Elba. The lives of the islanders today seems pretty good if you like a tourist-based economy. Over 2-million tourists visit the island each year. Most of that happens in August and most of them are German. Arrive anytime outside of August and you find a laid back island with a nice mix of Italian dolce vita, German order, and a plethora of outdoor activities, including boating, mountain biking, cycling, sailing, kayaking, and diving.

Here's a slide show that Jim put together of our 3 day, 60 mile circumnavigation...

Skiing to Switzerland...a retrospective

Today we wore t-shirts and shorts and Jim cut the "lawn," a mix of grass, herbs, wildflowers, and weeds. Skiing in Zermatt seems like more than just a season ago...

Our long-time friends Kevin and Reisa were coming to Lichtenstein in January for a meeting of the Turtle Foundation, a cause that they have been part of since 2000. They apologized for not having enough time to come see us in Italy. We said "no problem, we'll meet you in the Alps!" After a bit of debate among the four of us and Steve, a friend from Geneva who would join us, we decided to meet in Zermatt, Switzerland, for four days.

Jim and I spent 2 months in 1993 in the town of Zermatt with the goal of climbing as many of the peaks in the valley as we could. It was undoubtedly one of our best summers. Because of the eighteen 4,000-meter peaks that ring the valley, Zermatt is a superb training ground for climbers, with the added bonus that after you "bag" your peak, you get to hang out in a beautiful alpine village, eat fondue, and drink good beer. We were excited to return to the Zermatt valley, experience it in winter, and hook up with our friends.

Zermatt is car-free, or I should say, combustion-engine-free. There are plenty of electric buses and transporters that could just as easily run you down as their fuel-guzzling counterpart. In fact, because they have quiet electric engines, I think you are more likely to get hit. Although you can't drive to Zermatt, you can drive to the town of Tasch and then take the train to Zermatt, but that wouldn't have been nearly as much fun as the trip that Jim planned: Drive to the Italian ski resort of Cervinia on the south side of the Matterhorn and go over the mountains to Zermatt. Here's a video of how that works.



European ski areas tend to be more spread out than their U.S. counterparts. U.S. ski areas typically have a well-defined base that the lifts and runs are built around. Perhaps because American ski resorts are newer, they look and feel like they are laid out with a plan. European ski areas, which vastly outnumber U.S. ski areas, feel like they grew organically, with lots of older small ski areas conglomerating into mega ski areas over time. Zermatt, for example, is three distinct areas that are loosely hooked together. This can be frustrating if you want to efficiently ski the resort, but frankly skiing in Europe is more about enjoying the views, taking long lunches, and enjoying all the different forms of transportation. In all of my years of skiing in the U.S., I've never taken a train to the top of the run!



On our first day of skiing, the four of us met Kevin for lunch at the Gornergrat station. Kevin had injured himself skiing in Lichtenstein. We thought he was off the roster for his stay in Zermatt, but through a combination of beer, pain killers, and sheer will, Kevin skied down the mountain with us that afternoon and all day the next day.

The trip over from Italy and back was fun and uneventful. We didn't get stuck on one side or the other as I feared. We got to spend some quality time with our friends from Bellingham. We shared great skiing, fondue, and laughs! Here are some photos compliments of Reisa and Jim:

A Birthday in Venice

We celebrated my birthday in December with a trip to Venice. This was our second time in Venice. We originally visited in 1988 during a 10-month bicycle trip, which included 3-1/2 months pedaling from Rome to Dublin. In the 22 years since we first visited Venice, we've changed a great deal. (There's nothing like a birthday to remind you how much you've changed.) Venice, on the other hand, is exactly the same. And that is the beauty of Venice: it is a city frozen in time. The time was around the 13th Century when Venice was the major trading center in Europe for goods and crusaders coming in from and departing for the East. The thriving trade center became a center of banking, manufacturing, and the arts. Wealthy citizens built splendid palaces along the canals and subsidized great works of art. But Venice's preeminence as an international trade center declined in the 15th Century after Magellan found a sea route to the East, shifting Europe's center of trade from Venice to Lisbon and other European cities that were prepared to set sail. Venice, with it's fleet of oared boats, slid into obscurity, preserved in its lovely, slightly decayed medieval-renaissance state.

From our original visit, we both had fond memories of Venice. I loved getting lost in the maze of little alleyways, and Jim loved that the city is without automobiles. (I find it funny that a guy who owns five vehicles loves car-free zones.) You can drive to Venice from the mainland on a long causeway, but then you have to park at one of the few outrageously expensive garages. (Cheaper alternatives are on the mainland and along the causeway, but we were only in Venice three nights so we opted for convenience.) From the parking garage, we rolled and carried our luggage to the vaporetto station, where we picked up the public boat that would get us, our dogs, and luggage closer to our hotel near St. Mark's Square. Bruno carried his own backpack, which made him a big hit on the vaporetto. After disembarking, we wandered around looking for the right alleyway to proceed down, but when we started retracing our steps, Jim pulled out the GPS and took us directly to the Hotel Locanda Canal. Venice is great for walking, but not with suitcases. A GPS is handy.

Venice has some fantastic sights to see, including the Doge's Palace, St. Mark's Basilica and Square, and the Frari church, but I didn't feel the desire that I feel in Florence to visit sights. Venice makes me want to walk and walk and walk, and when I'm tired of walking, it makes me want to eat. I did visit St. Mark's Basilica on my birthday, admiring the golden, stone-studded mosaics covering the ceiling, studying the detail in the Paolo d'Oro altarpiece, and marveling at the waves created in the black and white mosaic floor from the settling of the pilings under the weight of the cathedral. Jim and I also spent a day visiting half a dozen churches around the city, the best of which was the Frari for the masterpieces it contains. They say that Venice has an amazing café culture, but it was too cold when we were there for it to be in full swing. The cafes were full inside, but outside tables and chairs were empty in the near freezing temperatures. The only thing to do was to walk to stay warm and dip into a café or restaurant at meal time for some local cuisine. On my birthday, we dipped into Osteria al Mascaron, snagged the last table, and enjoyed their seafood antipasto, pasta, and house white wine.

Walking the streets of Venice is like hiking the canyons of the American Southwest. The footpaths are narrow and are hemmed in by buildings rising 30-feet overhead, as though the watery canals had carved out the facades of these buildings over time. These urban canyons angle this way and that, slowly revealing the path forward. Little canyons merge to form bigger canyons, and bigger canyons divide into many narrower canyons. Venice begs you to come to the next bend in the canyon and peak around the corner for a visual treat. It hardly ever disappoints.

I've posted more pictures of Venice and created a short video highlighting some different forms of Venetian transportation.

Olive Oil

Much of the mystery of olive oil production has been solved for us, including the answer to the question "why is good olive oil so expensive?" The answer: harvesting olives is really hard work! But if you've ever tasted fresh extra-virgin olive oil, then you know it is worth the expense if you buy it or the effort if you happen to have an olive grove, which we do now. Of course, having a grove of olive trees is common here. Italy ranks second after Spain for production of olive oil (22% of the global market) and per capita consumption (12.35 kg per person per year). All of our neighbors have groves that range from 10 trees (ours) to 200 or so trees (Letizia and Francesca's next door).

Another mystery of olive oil production is when to harvest the olives. We've heard everything from October to February, but I think the honest answer is whenever you can find the time. If you do it earlier, you have better weather, but you also have more green olives that aren't yet ripe. If you harvest later, you run the risk of harvesting in cold, rainy weather, but you'll have a higher ratio of black, ripe olives. Green olives are not a bad thing for olive oil, but they contain less oil than black olives and that gets into the third mystery of olive oil production: the yield. Apparently, Italians discuss their yield--the ratio of oil to olives--like Americans discuss horsepower in their cars. It's a serious topic that reflects on an individuals self-worth and image. We haven't been privy to any of these conversations, but we have heard men fight over the size of meat in the ragu, so it seems likely that olive oil yield could be an important and sensitive topic.

It took Jim and I about 8 hours to harvest the olives from our 10 trees. That was after spending a few hours with Francesca learning the ropes. The harvest involves spreading nets under the trees and then using small hand rakes to remove the olives from the tree. Once all of the olives are picked, the nets are lifted and the olives are dumped into a crate. Pretty basic, but Francesca had two valuable tools: an oliviera, an electric tool with gyrating prongs on a long handle so that olives can be harvested from hard to reach spots, and an olive cleaning machine that removes the leaves and twigs.

Once we had our olives (10 trees produced 56 kilograms of olives), a co-worker of Jim's made an appointment for us to take the olives to a frantoio, or olive pressing facility. We knew the frantoio had a minimum amount, which we would be under, but we were able to buy olives from them to get the 130 kilograms we needed. The frantoio we went to was Lucchi & Guastalli in Santo Stefano di Magra. When one of the owners discovered that I spoke English, he went and got his partner, who explained the process and served me a cup of coffee. I spent the next two hours at the frantoio watching my olives be weighed, washed, ground up into a peanut butter paste, and then spun through a centrifuge to extract the oil. An entirely automated process. The air was thick with the smell of olive oil and the warehouse buzzed with the fervor of harvest. Men stood in groups discussing their crops. One would break away when his oil began to emerge. He would watch with great intent, occasionally sticking a finger in the flow to take a quick approving taste.

When it was my turn, I watched with pride as my 25-liter stainless container was filled to the rim. The attendant did a quick calculation and handed me a piece of scrap paper with my yield (17.6 percent, an extremely high yield that I contribute to dumb luck) and my bill (150 euros for 80 kg of olives and the pressing fee). The final cost is 6 euros a liter (about $8) of the most delicious and certainly the freshest olive oil I have ever tasted. A fantastic deal, particularly when you factor in this truly Italian experience.