25 February 2010

If you are ever presented with the opportunity to hike in the Swiss Alps, follow my advice and make haste. It is, I assure you, not an experience to be missed.

I myself had never gone hiking before. In fact, I am not much of an outdoorswoman in general. I have gone camping once, but really we just drove to a campsite 30 minutes out of town, drank beer by a fire, and slept in a tent. I am not sure, but I suspect there is something more to camping than that.

So I have gotten it into my head within the past year that I want to hike. Well, that's not entirely accurate. It's not that I want to hike per se, but that I want to hike the Appalachian Trail. In a way that I imagine is particularly Modern American of me, I do not want to Experience so much as Accomplish.

Oh the things we do to have a story to tell at the bar.

As I am new in town, I have been pretty active in looking for activities to do, places to see, new things to try. One of the groups I joined was the Meetup.com hiking group. Within a few days of joining I received an email from one of the members, Andrea, informing me that they were going to be hiking in Switzerland that upcoming Sunday. Should they expect me? Yes, yes they should.



To get to Switzerland was an easy affair, just an hour by train. We had a brief layover in a Swiss border town by the name of Chiasso and picked up some chocolate, water, and wasabi nuts (the preferred snacks of hikers everywhere, I am sure) before heading over to Mendrisio, where we were to meet another hiker, Laura.



Laura picked up Andrea and myself in Mendrisio and drove us partway up Mount San Giorgio to the small town of Meride, population 300, where the trail begins. The plan was to get a bite to eat in a grotto in Meride before setting out for a hike. When we arrived it was lunchtime, the streets were deserted, and we were unable to find a restaurant. Being winter still, and such a small town, apparently the restaurants are a seasonal business. So fortified only with crackers, coffee, and swiss chocolate we set out on the trail.

Now this particular trail, I am told, is actually a UNESCO World Heritage Site, due to the dinosaur bones peppered along the trail. I would like to inform you at the outset that, due I presume to the snow we encountered, this is not going to be a tale about dinosaurs. In fact we didn't see any bones at all. I did not, however, find my experience to be any poorer for it. I recently took in the exhibit on Dinosaurs on the American Natural History Museum in New York City, and I would say my appetite for all things dinosaurs was sated by the experience.

So we began the hike. Swiss trails, for the record, are known for being clearly marked. I love the Swiss for this. I have heard that the Italian trails can be pretty dicey, and often one needs to hire an experienced guide or risk the fate of being lost in the Italian Alps. In addition to being well marked the trail going up was thoughtfully paved with moderately sized stones.



Having never been hiking before, and having never read any hiking tales nor talked in depth with any experienced hiker about the activity, the first few minutes of the hike were a bit of a shock, in the way that something can be shocking when we have no knowledge at all of our pursuit and we are doing it for the first time.

So we climbed. And we climbed. And we climbed. I think it was either Thoreau or Emerson who wrote that if he didn't spend at least 4 or 5 hours outside every day, he felt the day had been wasted. I am beginning to feel this perspective. I don't think, in fact, that talking about the absolute pleasure and joy of hiking is a worthy pursuit. In fact, I think that anything worth doing is probably not worth talking (or writing) about, at least by me, as I am certain I do not possess the skill to portray the depth of the experience. I will say that a few hours into the hike I felt very much myself, in a way that I don't feel on sidewalks or in cities or on couches.



When we arrived near the top there was a cafe (closed), and a little cabin with the sign "Sono per Tutti Ma Rispettate Mi" or "I am for all, Repect me." Inside some previous hikers had left a small fire going in the rustic hearth. Charming, really.



For a while by this point the trail had been covered by snow. This wasn't a problem in terms of navigation, it just made the climb a bit more arduous. What I discovered quickly was that it is fairly easy to climb a mountain, it is getting down that is the hard part. As we embarked on our descent the snow over the path became more plentiful, due to the fact that we were climbing down the north face of the mountain. Laura jauntily sped ahead, being something of an old hand at this. Andrea, who has been hiking for two years, lagged only a bit behind. Somewhere way far back I could be found, relying on the two walking sticks I had picked up along the way to keep me from tumbling down the mountainside.



For a while I entertained myself by imagining all of the funny ways I could brag to my friends about the adversity I overcame on this trip. As the hours accumulated, as the paths became more narrow and slicker and bordered by what seemed to me increasingly steep and precipitous slopes, even that internal conversation ceased. Instead I focused solely on the act of putting one foot safely in front of the other, of breathing evenly, of enjoying the feel of crisp air on heated skin, and of breathtaking mountain views that presented themselves abruptly around curves and through breaks in the tree line.

Standing on the northern slope of the mountain, gazing upon the mountain range of the Alps ahead of me, I considered what it was that I enjoyed about this experience. Sometimes, when standing in the piazza of a famous Italian city, gazing upon any number of marvels and wonders, I feel overwhelmed by what I am in the midst of. I feel as though I don't have the capacity or skill to absorb what I am seeing. I think even if I were, for example, on a train going through the Alps I would feel the same.







The joy of hiking, I think, is that it gives you an opportunity to engage with your environment, instead of standing about like the dazed tourist I so often am. I think the trick to really drink in full from the moment is to be a participant in it, and not just play the part of the voyeur. In defiance of signs in china shops everywhere written in a calligraphic pen, I think we should spend this life not just looking, but always touching.

And so I am doing my best to take this new perspective with me everywhere I go, to the suburb and the city square alike. It is a funny thing about hiking, that even a day after a big climb, with legs still sore from the efforts of the previous day, you already feel in the belly a hunger for more. Of all of the hungers I have felt, it is one of the hungers I most welcome.

So friends, I bid you adieu.

Until next time,

eva









http://www.myswitzerland.com/en/interests/excursions/theme-and-discovery-trails/monte-san-giorgio-dinosaur-traces.html

Let's Talk Accesories

Last week while I had a layover in Florence I made a purchase that I have failed to discuss with most of you.

Friends, without further ado, my new purse:







Now let me explain why I am talking accessories here.

I sort of envisioned my year in Italy (or however long) sort of as a quest to help me figure out not only professionally what I want to do with my life but also, on a day to day level, what qualities do I want my life to have. What do I value, and what are the things I want to strip away?

Now we all know I am a woman who hates clutter. (For those of you thinking now of what a mess my room tends to be, I would like to acknowledge that yes, clutter and I are in a battle, and yes clutter is often on the winning side of said battle). So why would I want to muck up my life with another hand bag, let alone one that is, by my standards, practically an investment? Aside, of course, from the fact that I am a woman, and I sorely need one.

But didn't Hemingway, when he wrote about his years in Paris, report that they never invested in their dress? That it was art and spirits they spent their money on? Ahhh, he was probably lying anyway. Have any of you seen the pictures from those years? They were always well groomed and dashing, not a patch or stain to be seen. Besides, Hemingway, as we all know, was no woman.

Let me explain something to you, that I'm sure will clear up all this confusion: Friends. This bag is made of real Florentine leather.

This bag is made of real leather handcrafted by artisans around Firenze, the same artisans and region who craft the leather for the big fashion houses (so I have been told). To touch it is to know and understand completely and immediately the difference, to realize the paltry imitations of a hand bag we have been duped into buying all these years. For now on, I resolve, my purses come from Florence.

This is, clearly, a bit of a departure from my usual modus operandi. I have been living in the state of Maine for perhaps a bit too long, and Maine is a state that loves a good bargain, and loves as well to talk about it. Contrary to the impulses of the rest of popular culture, which loves at least to look expensive, the people of Maine cannot receive a compliment on an item without immediately informing you just how little they paid for it. I think this culture is rooted in a history of poverty, of people from a poor state in a cold climate with a propensity towards very hard work (fishing, farming, forestry) taking pride in their ability, again and again, to make something from nothing, to make lives from land, to make fashion from scraps.

With such a collective cultural force guiding you, it doesn't take long before you forget the value of quality. I think, as Americans, that is our habit, isn't it? To maximize efficiency and cost effectiveness by chipping away at the value of an item little by little until we are swimming in a tide of reduced-price plastic. I just recently read Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemmna and I believe that's very much what he reports we have done with our food source, maximize output with a steady stream of petroleum inputs that do not provide nutrition in a meaningful way to the soil or for the consumers. And that's the operative value that we apply to our food source!

So I stand by my commitment to splurge on high quality leather goods. Bury me with them, I say. And when they dig me up, civilizations from now, let them marvel at the artistry of my selected wares. I fully expect they won't be able to help themselves.

7 February 2010

For the record, I am an amazing parallel parker.

Once, a group of men, all strangers to me, actually applauded me for the brilliance of one of my parking feats. On a separate occasion, I performed for a woman with a station wagon something like a 27-point turn - exhibiting both patience AND finesse, mind you - when she was unable to get out of an an untenable parking spot.

So you will be shocked to read of what happened last night.

But first, some context.

I arrived in Milan Tuesday evening, happy to be here. The farm was great, but after two weeks of being covered in dirt and without a hairdryer i was grateful for my return to civilization.

I started work on Wednesday - I am an au pair - and just getting settled in and becoming familiar with the neighborhood and the family. So of course on Saturday (I have the weekends off for the most part) I was so excited to venture out into Milano properly, as I had not yet had time to do that at all. In the afternoon I met up with some other au pairs to walk about and talk and, despite to cold, to have some gelato. And in the evening I attended a sushi dinner that I found out about through the website couchsurfing.com. And it was great! I had a great time, and met wonderful people.

Sadly for me, I had to cut my evening short as I was not feeling very well. I am convinced that my immune system has decided to fall prey to illness, one bacteria and virus at a time, as this is the second time I have been sick in Italy, and the third time since November (when you take into account the alleged swine flu I contracted in New York). Woe is me, as they say.

So when I got off at my metro stop and found the car (it is a short drive to the house) I was more than ready to be safely home in bed. Of course first I had to find my way there.

Now, most people who know me remember than my sense of direction is not one of my most impressive qualities. It comes as no surprise, then, that even with two maps to aid me there were several false turns and instances of back tracking. Somehow, miraculously, I found my way back to the house.

And here is when disaster struck. What you need to understand is that Italian proportions are very small! Angles are steep! The car was slightly larger than I am accustomed to! I scratched the car!

Yep, that's right people. Within four days of arriving I have quantifiably lowered the net value of the family with whom I am staying. I scratched the car. More specifically, first I got the passenger side door wedged against the door frame of the garage and was unable to move it. Then, after some deep breathes and not a few obscenities, I steeled myself, threw the car in reverse, and aggressively pushed down on the accelerator. And I was free! Free! And left only to the worry and anxiety of the perpetually inept.

I spoke to the family about it this morning, and they were so gracious. I got a hug, and was told that another au pair did the same thing twice, which was a relief since I had been positive that I had set a new record for destruction, if not in the world, then at least in this home.

So things are okay, and I haven't been fired or cast away. Other than that everything is fine. I am practicing my Italian, and looking for a local class to join, and looking also for a buddy with whom I can practice my Italian (and they can practice their English).

Carnivale is coming up in a week, so I'm excited about that. I've heard it lasts from Tuesday through Saturday, so needless to say I'm excited.

Hope you all are well.

Talk soon.

Love Eva

24 January 2010

Hello friends!

Today is Sunday, and I have been at Pignano for one full week.

I arrived last Sunday evening, after taking a train from Milano Centrale to Firenze, and then taking a bus to Volterra (with one lay over at Colle Val d'Elsa). My drop off location from the bus was a stop called Bivio del Castel Fiorentino, which is, quite literally, in the middle of no where. I was picked up by friend Juba and one Davide Stampa, and delivered safely to the farm.

One of the first sights to greet me upon my arrival was two hanging pigs that had recently been slain and skinned. Apparently the cold fresh air is quite good for the curing process (is that what is happening here, curing?) and so they were left out for a few days. The air is quite cold is Toscana this time of year, so it is perfectly safe in terms of hygeine to leave them in the shade for a bit.

After the pigs I met the people. Tess is 25 and a Portland native who has been on the farm for almost a year. Zach is 25, from the suburbs of Miami, and has been WWOOFing around the world since dropping out of pharmacy school. He is also our resident bread maker, which is pretty awesome. Tess, Zach and Juba are the only WWOOFers on the farm right now. Otherwise Pignano consists of 11 adults and 9 children, a mix of Italian, English and Romanian families. Pignano is owned by an absentee billionaire, and this community has been living at Pignano and working the land for about 15 years.







The villa itself takes up I think 750 acres. The buildings primarily are 17th or 18th century, though some of the foundations are Etruscan in origin. During WWII the villa was occupied by Nazis, and now it is a hotel in the summer months and a home to farmers year round. The place is magnificent, essentially a mansion.

The day after my arrival Davide, Juba, Zach, Tess and I drove to nearby Siena for a day of ambling and eating. It was divine, and such a lovely way to start my time here.










Since then I have been working. Basically we each have one day off a week. The day starts at 830, when we all meet in the smaller kitchen for a light breakfast and coffee, and to hear details of our assignments if we are to work outside. Otherwise we are assigned to work in the kitchen. Lunch is around 1230 for about an hour or so, and then we work till about 3 or 4 sometimes.

I have worked outside twice since I have been here. The first time I carried the halved bodies of the aforementioned swine to the place where they would be dismembered. I also transported bundles of kindling (note: physical labor is HARD work!) that are to be used for building fires for the bread, and visited the chickens and pigs. The second time I spent the day weeding the saffron patches. Otherwise I have been in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and cleaning after lunch.

Life is here is good. It is of course an adjustment, as I think we all know that I am not, by nature, a ruralist. But it's been good to experience this pace of life and to talk to some of the long term residents here about their take on this sort of living. (What I have learned is as follows: you need a lot of land to make a farm work, and after 1.5 years at Pignano one comes to the realization that the problems are within you and not so much from the outside world).

So that's what's going on with me. Hope you are all well!

Love, eva

16 January 2010

Hello friends!

I am writing to you safe and sound, from the suburbs of Milano.

I arrived in Bologna yesterday around noon, jet lagged and with a sore bum, and after a few false starts made my way to the hotel, where I crashed for a few hours. Then I woke up and went walking around Bologna. Everything was closed (apparently things close early) but I had one of those lovely evenings strolling around by twilight a city that was birthed in the middle ages. For dinner I had tagliatelle with a Bolognese sauce (I thought that was appropriate) and some delicious red wine.

In the morning I climbed the 498 steps of the Torre degli Asinelli. Did I ever mention I am afraid of heights? A few times going up the construction of it would fake me out and I would think "of course! the top" but then I would turn a corner and there would be plenty of steps to go. It was a pretty nerve wracking climb. And then there was the descent, which was pretty precarious as the steps are not very deep and at times you have to climb down sideways. It was nice, though, the cacaphony of tourist footsteps while bells chime in the distance, the vestiges of adrenalin from the ascent still lingering in your blood. A happy little moment.

After the tower I lit some candles in the Basilica di San Petronio and said a prayer for the folks in Haiti, and then was on my way to Milano.

Milano Centrale, the central train station, is quite a sight to behold. I am told that the architecture of fascists tends to be on the grander scale, to have the desired effect of making peasants feels small, insignificant. It was pretty big let me say. As this is a major stop for the subway I will let you know after further trips if it succeeds in making me feel insignificant. (Question: can fascist design compete with a modern ego?)

Tonight I met the family I am to stay with. They are very delightful and friendly and functional. I cannot wait to start taking Italian classes, as I feel so awkward stuck with my native English. For all of you who recommended that I take classes, I admit it you were right!

Tomorrow I am heading to the farm in Toscana to spend about three weeks there. I am very curious as to what that will entail, as it is winter over here. Milking cows? Slaughtering pigs? We'll have to wait and see.

Anyway I miss you all and can't wait to see you again. Hope you don't mind the mass email. Also what is Sonia's address btw?

Hope you are all well,

Love eva