Dance Parties

Michelle and I have gotten ourselves into more than one dancing situation since arriving in the Piemonte region. Last week, we traveled to Canelli for a tour of an old, underground winery during the town's wine festival. The dancing we witnessed was quite varied. This first one is about as Southern as sweet tea:

This next one really made me feel like we were a bit more cultured, and it was presented at the same festival. 

Interestingly enough, our friend Mariolina invited us to a tango "prove" in Acqui Terme this week. We thought it might be something like that last video.

It was actually two hours of this, and we weren't allowed to participate:

After our lovely visit to Acqui Terme today, Michelle and Kayla decided to entertain us with their own form of dance in matching pants. Please enjoy this one. I know I did.

As you can see, we've been experiencing the gamut of dance here in downtown Cessole.

Wildlife

Neither Michelle nor I are animal people, and this is fine. We specifically chose farms that worked with crops, not with animal products. However, just because you don't choose animals doesn't mean that they won't choose you. Lizards and scorpions have been sighted in our bedroom, for instance. Spiders and webs are a daily occurrence, but that's cool with me because they keep the flies away.

During our first weekend here, all five of us WWOOFers were plagued by a noise throughout the night that caused us to lose sleep. In the fireplace in our room, there was a dormouse. It had been eating the wooden roof and had apparently fallen down and not been able to get up. It scratched and scurried all night in an attempt to get back to the roof, but it was entirely unsuccessful.

Pia was so excited for us. She thinks dormice are cute, and she showed me and Michelle pics of different kinds of dormice on her phone. I tried to sound interested, but let's be honest, I had the horror of killing over 10 mice in my apartment two years ago in NYC. I didn't need to see mice in pictures. Miranda, who likes small furry creatures, thankfully took it upon herself to rescue the dormouse using only a cardboard box. It took a few tries, as the mouse jumped out of the box continually and thought that climbing up the chimney was the only way out.

Kayla, meanwhile, had a "God moment" while pondering how much she couldn't stand that mouse keeping her awake the night before. She related to us--in parable form, no less--that we are the dormouse, scratching away while trying to climb out of the hole we've fallen into. God is Miranda with the cardboard box, offering us an unknown and scary alternative to what we perceive to be the "only option." Obviously, Kayla explained, God's way is the best route for everyone because He can see the whole picture. We just have to trust Him.

Wow. Who knew that dormouse could be such a benefit?

In other news, the yellow jackets are what bother me. I didn't know I had such a strong aversion to them until this week's dolcetto harvest. Yellow jackets like sweet things, such as honey and nectar. Well, dolcetto grapes are pretty daggon sweet, and they were everywhere. I was particularly nervous because our full intent in harvesting the grapes included taking them away from the flying yellow and black bodies. I just knew these yellow jackets were going to attack. I kept my flannel on in the hot sun for entirely too long because of it. I mean, we didn't look like bee keepers, but there were definitely too many swarming yellow jackets to count. We kept hitting them with our bunches of grapes, too, as we flung them into the basket. We didn't have time to think about their feelings, and they really needed to get out of the way. I'm personally convinced that Italian bugs are docile. I think I saw one yellow jacket sting a dog that was biting them out of the air, but otherwise, they remained calm. Nonetheless, I saw killer bees when I closed my eyes to sleep that night.

A couple days before the harvest, Michelle and I were cleaning out a woodshed and came across two separate hives. I actually dropped one and then sprinted toward the donkeys at full speed ahead, but to my surprise, these yellow jackets didn't follow me or even really try to escape from their bucket. They just moved lazily along like their world hadn't been shattered by an idiot recycling old plastic. The other one was on top of a pole, and Michelle hit it a few times. The yellow jackets weren't scared and neither was Michelle. That must be a nice feeling.

I'm sure there will be more interesting stories about wildlife in Italy, so stay tuned as we journey from farm to farm!

WWOOFers

me, Stefan, Kayla, Miranda, and Michelle in the kitchen

So this is a bit late, but I thought I should introduce you to the other WWOOFers at Tenuta. In my defense, I had to take time to get to know this gang before I tried to adequately describe them to you.

Michelle and Kayla picking strawberries from the garden

First we have Michelle, and you all know Michelle by now. You may not know that we first met while competing against one another in the WV State Tennis Tournament. We officially met two years later at the WVU Newman Club, but we didn't recognize each other until our university parish priest (Fr. Bill: he has a mind like a steel trap and was even on Jeopardy to prove it) reminded me that I played against her when I was a high school junior. Michelle didn't remember this detail until we were wearing the same state tennis tourny shirt. When she told me that she had that shirt, I replied that I knew that. She then asked our mutual friend Tim about my high school colors and deduced that we had played each other in a match.

Miranda!

Next is Miranda. She's the oldest of five kids and was born and raised in North Carolina. Miranda is often the hand that keeps us WWOOFers on the same page as our hosts. That may be due to the fact that she hangs out with the boys of our hosts quite often because she is able to better learn the language that way. She loves spending time with families but prefers quiet reading time to loud conversations. She often refers to herself as a deer (because she likes to graze and snack) or a cat (because she likes to sleep). In fact, we sometimes can't find Miranda. She recently disclosed that she has secret places around our hosts' property where she likes to relax on her own and sometimes sleep in the shade. In college, people called her "the girl who sleeps around" because she was often spotted napping outside in odd locations.

In Miranda's childhood home, communication was the most important aspect. Therefore, not only did she major in psychology, she feels comfortable broaching all topics with all people...anytime. For instance, our host Mauro has two children from another marriage, and twice now I've walked into a room just as she was asking him what their names were or how often he saw them when they were little. Or like today: she mentioned to Mauro and Pia that they were in a much better mood, and then she whispered, "Are you making more love?" Thankfully, Pia had just asked the table another question and didn't hear her.

Stefan and Kayla at the Swedish dinner

Now we have our WWOOFing couple, Kayla and Stefan. They're from Texas, and I still have never met anyone I haven't liked from Texas. They both quit their jobs to backpack around Europe for three months, and their friends now question them as people and feel that they are unpredictable. Michelle and I think that they're great; we've discussed it. They make their own deodorant, shampoo, and conditioner, for the sake of Pete!

Let's start with Kayla. One of Kayla's first stories went something like this:

One of my friends was in an office waiting room when the woman at the front desk came into the room to timidly call a name, "Shady Nasty?" the woman said, barely audible. No one responded. The woman said it again, a little louder this time, "Shady Nasty?" The woman continued to say this name until she was nearly shouting in her search for this patient, "SHADY NASTY?" Finally a woman stood up.
"Uh-uh, girl! It's Sha Dynasty!"

I've often heard Stefan call Kayla "Qui (pronounced kwy)" and I asked her why this was so. She informed me that in the eighth grade, she made up a name for herself: Quila Bagina Lynn (QBL, as her friends sometimes call her). There was no reason for her to make up and use this name.

Although Kayla is silly quite often, she is one of the most attentive people I know. She notices when a topic of conversation bothers someone enough for him/her to quietly leave the room. She called me considerate when I poured the breakfast cereal instead of using my hand to grab some out of the bag. She always says thank you, no matter if you should have completed the task anyways or not. Her relationship with the Lord is very important to her, and you can catch a hint of that in tomorrow's post about wildlife!

Stefan is, notably, the only man among us WWOOFers. He is called the "wood man" and is often asked to do the heavy lifting (washing machines, crates full of grapes, kitchen appliances). Division of labor is sometimes based solely upon the fact that Stefan is the only male. Mauro and Stefan work together most of the time, and because of this, we women tend to think that Stefan knows more about what's going on than we do. He thinks this is funny.

Stefan is the reader. Not that Kayla isn't a reader, but in comparison to Stefan, most people just aren't readers. On more than one occasion, we've been waiting to have a meal because Stefan is off somewhere reading, oblivious to the fact that we ravenous WWOOFers are patiently waiting for him to drop the iPad. Because his reading appetite is insatiable, Stefan knows a lot about a multitude of different topics. (He taught world history for a bit.) He often asks our opinions about different things and then tells us what he's read about them lately. When I suggested he start making money on trivia game shows, he told me that he doesn't know much about all that popular stuff, just about the things that he thinks are worthwhile. A few days ago in the vineyards, he mentioned that he believes empathy is the most important virtue you can instill in a person, and today the whole group held an hours-long discussion (mainly encouraged by Stefan) on morality while we peeled and chopped apples.

Cutting apples for jams...for hours

This is the gang of our first WWOOFing farm. I know that I'll miss them all dearly when they leave Wednesday--Miranda to another farm near the lakes and Kayla and Stefan to "Colorado." I hope to see them again very soon. For now, arrivederci, buoni amici!

Swedish for a Day

Stefan, Miranda, the Swedish couple, and me at Mexican Night

In my last post, I mentioned that our Swedish friends had left Cessole early and that our hosts had invited a group of their friends for a party surrounding a Swedish-style meal. We five Americans accepted the responsibility to press on with these plans. In fact, we gave our hosts most of the day off (and Pia was SO grateful!) while we cooked and tried to plan the evening. I didn't think the meal would end up being blog-worthy, but life never ceases to amaze me, and here I am blogging about it.

First of all, we had a wonderful Tuesday running the kitchen. We went to the garden to pick some fresh kale for Michelle's Swedish kale soup, which was a big hit with the Italians. We learned the the Swedes use a lot of heavy cream. It's actually called double cream, and it cannot be found in the US or in Italy due to its high fat content, so we settled for regular panne. Cream was used in both the potato-sardine dish that I made and in the kale soup. Both the apps (which were American: cheese-bacon-onion dip and artichoke dip) were heavy. I think the Swedish meatballs were made with lots of butter but no cream. The meatballs were dressed with a side of mashed potatoes and lingonberry sauce. Pancakes with berry sauce served as the dessert, and our after-dinner drink was a warm Swedish wine called glub (gloob). After our dessert and dessert drink, we had caffe and cookies, of course. I was a big advocate for wine at this meal, considering my concern for everyone's digestive health. It just makes the whole evening more enjoyable and fluid, on so many levels. Also, Michelle recently told me that alcoholics have crystal clear arteries when they die, so I tend to drink a little more when we eat artery-clogging meals.

The onions make her so emotional.

Dessert Pancakes 

Our most lively guest was from Sicily. He and three others are affectionately known by us WWOOFers as "the workers" as they are in the process of restoring houses and stay at Tenuta for a few days at a time. Pia says that Italians in the south have the sun in their hearts, and this man was certainly bright and happy. He started off the evening by telling us that he wanted to "sing" us a song, so he stood up and began mouth-trumpeting our national anthem to welcome us. It was a little awkward when we didn't join in. Please enjoy this clip where he shares with us that we remind him of Billy Joel's Always a Woman.

We still don't know why we collectively remind him of a woman.

Plating is so important here.

Our host Mauro pours the rose for the aperitivo.

Miranda, Erica, Kayla, Pia, Michelle, and me

Our Sicilian friend also practiced slight-of-hand tricks. He said that this one in particular originated in Naples and that we should never go against Italians when it comes to card tricks. His comment reminded me of The Princess Bride.

Card tricks with the Sicilian

Overall, our dinner was well-received. I'm talking thunderous applause. Pia and Mauro have been happy for days, and that is something we can all celebrate!

September 21st

Miranda, me, and Michelle at Roccaverano

"We're going to see the 'black women,'" our driver told us. Her name was Donnatella. We had hopped into her car about five minutes before she made this statement, which was a response to Michelle's question about whether or not we were headed to a santuario.

The woman in the passenger seat was Mariolina, a friend of our host Pia. We met her the night before in the kitchen at Tenuto when she was helping us cook for the overflowing restaurant. Her mother was Dutch, so it was easier for her to learn English than it was for most Italians, or so she said. She gave us a standing invitation to her goat farm, and Michelle found her house this afternoon on her run. Upon returning, Michelle told Miranda and me that we would be going to a santuario with Mariolina at 4pm today. We were a bit late meeting her, and so we ran into Mariolina and Donnatella on the road to Mariolina's home. They were waving from the car, and so we jumped right in with a quick "ciao."

Donnatella had traveled to New York on business three years before, and she had many opinions about the city: It was great for work. It was awful for living. It never slept, and she needed her sleep. She met a fantastic boy there, but long-distance wasn't working for them. We had a lovely broken-English conversation about NYC with Mariolina as our translator. With the assistance of Mariolina, we also learned that the "black women" we were going to see were actually Catholic Sisters. The Sisters' habits were actually navy blue skirt suits, but still, I can understand that thought process.

They took us to the Santuario del Todocco in Alba. The church there was dedicated to Madonna Madre della Divina Grazia (Mary Mother of the Divine Mercy), which Michelle and I thought was awesome. It was pretty cool to see a picture that read "Gesu, Confido in Te" and know exactly what that means because we've seen it so often in English (Jesus, I trust in You). I'm pretty sure we went there only to make a natural medicine purchase. Donnatella spoke to the Sister at the door for a while, paid, and then walked away with a bottle of a concoction of grappa, aloe, and honey. It was supposedly good for all kinds of ailments. 

Then we got back in the car to head to Roccaverano, which is the highest point in the area and has a history dating back to the Roman Era. It consists of a little town dominated by a church, a bar, and a tower. The tower is part of a system of towers that used to be watch posts for barbarians trying to invade, according to our guides. It reminded me and Miranda of Lord of the Rings. The view was incredible! Have a look:

Mariolina showing off her cheese. She actually said "cheese"
for the picture...so American!

On the way home, we asked to be dropped of at the pizzeria in Cessole, but our drivers let us know that the ovens there don't get hot until 7:30pm, and so we would be wasting our time going early. Mariolina invited us into her home for some tea. We toured her grounds, met her goats, peeked inside her cheese-making room (which she converted from a wine cellar), met her two boys and Donnatella's son, and drank tea. We had quite the conversation about the song All About That Bass, which Donnatella likes because the women in the music video are clothed. We left soon after that part, as we were getting hungry.

The stairs of the tower at Roccaverano

Michelle and I finished out this unexpected day with pizza, wine, and great conversation. We also walked home in the dark, linked arm in arm, with only Michelle's trusty headlamp to guide us. (This wasn't the first time today that she resembled a coal miner.) We talked a lot about the one crazy person that, statistically, is bound to be lurking late at night in a town of 400 people, but we didn't find him.

As it turns out, we missed an eventful day at the farm. Our Swedish couple left without warning this afternoon. We five amateur American cooks are now expected to make a Swedish dinner for 25 of our hosts' friends on Tuesday night. We had to Google the word "lingonberry" for the lingonberry sauce the Swedes were going to use on their meatballs. We're not quite the professional chefs that our Swedish couple is.

I'd like to leave you with a video of the start of our day. This was midnight last night, in celebration of Earth, Wind, and Fire Day:

Moscato d'Asti

The town of Cessole--which does not have a post office, interestingly enough--is in the region of Asti. For anyone who drinks sweet wine, you'll recognize Asti from the labels of your Moscato bottles. Moscato grapes are native to Asti, and it just so happens that I'm farming in the region where my favorite dessert wine flows naturally in excess. Perfect. Barbera and Dolcetto grapes are also commonly grown in the region, and I'll be harvesting those for wine within the next couple weeks.

Our host Pia invited us WWOOFers to accompany her to an annual wine-tasting event in Asti town called Douja d'Or, and Michelle, Miranda, and I had the pleasure of joining Pia and her husband last night. It was so fun! I honestly wasn't expecting it to be that fun. Maybe it was the impromptu wine tasting that Mauro led for our table at dinner. Maybe it was the fact that Pia wanted the three of us around when I was under the impression that she and Mauro were having a date night. Maybe it was the night's total cost was less than 10 euro. Any of those factors could have contributed to my night being so great. No matter, two facts remain: I had a great time, and I drank Moscato d'Asti in the town of Asti. How cool!

Miranda at dinner

I learned a few things while I was out. Jorts for men and platform sneakers and skin-tight pants for women are in right now. I love panna cotta with hazelnuts and chocolate sauce. When Mauro drinks, he gets a bit more talkative and ends up telling you that there is a hidden stash of gelato in the guest house (which we found tonight!). Pia is always "on business," as she was able to network and learn more about selling her wines at this event next year. Driving through the hills of Cessole are worse than driving in West Virginia back country. Michelle is a modern-day MacGyver. (She yanked out a hair on her head to slice off a piece of chap stick containing aloe so that Miranda could contain a wasp sting that she got in the car, after Miranda told us that she might be allergic.)

The history of the festival

Day 2

 Picking grapes

In honor of #tbt, I would now like to share the second full day of work that Michelle and I had together at Tenuta Antica. It was Sunday, and it started off with us setting out breakfast for the guests at the agriturismo. Afterwards, we were to clean everything up as well as wash and sort the silverware. In the midst of bussing the tables of the guests, Michelle and I asked Pia about attending Mass that morning. Pia was a bit disappointed that we hadn't asked her sooner so that she could make arrangements for someone else to take our place on kitchen duty, and we told her that we would be sure to plan better for next week. She then explained that if we live a good life, everything will be ok and God will forgive us.

There were a large number of people staying at the agriturismo that morning, and cleanup took a while, especially because the upstairs dishwasher has a two-hour cycle. Michelle and I booked it downstairs to help with lunch prep once we were finished. There were less people for lunch, so Pia thought it would be a good day for us to learn the kitchen routine, but she got caught up in some other work, and we didn't begin making lunch until 12:10. As it turned out, another group of people arrived unexpectedly to eat.

Our host, Mauro, on the day
of the Pinot Noir harvest

Putting it mildly, Pia was frazzled. "It's not your fault, but it would be a lot easier on me if you knew what you were doing in here since we are rushed." Later, she told Michelle, "I wish my husband were here to help me," and Michelle quietly thought that Mauro's presence would be good for all of us. Mauro did eventually arrive to cook the main course, after we had served two sets of appetizers, which consisted of meats, cheeses, and jams.

Mauro "did work," as Michelle put it, in the kitchen. She and I had been doing lunch dishes for about two hours when Pia told me to take the leftover meat to the other WWOOFers for their lunch. I couldn't find them, and she was a little annoyed that I didn't know which of the five eating areas they were occupying that day. Pia and Mauro had words, and then she said, "My husband says not to worry about it, so don't worry about it."

When she left the room, Mauro offered Michelle and I risotto, which we scarfed down between industrial dishwasher cycles. It was 2:30pm, and we had eaten breakfast before setting up for the guests that morning, so we felt hungry. Whenever Pia entered the room, we got back to work immediately. At one point, Mauro walked over to our side of the kitchen with a bottle and said, "Wine?" Then he walked back to the stove saying over his shoulder, "It helps." I've come to believe that this is a true statement.

Michelle and I worked nine straight hours that day with no lunch break, and we were then expected to help set up for the big Mexican dinner that staff had been planning. Of course, we did help. We were certainly not thrilled that our Day of Rest turned into a day of major work, but the margaritas and guacamole really helped patch things up in the end. And good news! We now get Sundays off, as there are enough WWOOFers to have a regular day off each week.

And now for a short clip of us labeling preserves, which was today's task.

Harvesting Pinot Noir Grapes

Well folks, this is what it's all about: the harvest. Today we started at 8:30am, working in pairs. We took a break at 12:30pm for lunch (SO EARLY!) and then started right back at 2:00pm. We finished up around 7:00pm and ate spaghetti omelettes for dinner around 8:30pm (Thank you, Kayla and Michelle!) We finished out the day with rum and grappa cakes for our host Mauro's birthday. He was tickled that we sang to him in English.

Here's a highlight from the day:

Homemade Italian Pasta Lesson

Thanks for being smart enough to take video, Michelle! I'll let these clips speak for themselves, and I'm pretty sure that pasta will be served to guests at the agriturismo. 

Getting to Cessole

The hike to Cessole (Chess Olay, because mispronunciations can land you in another city) was longer than expected. We left our hostel at 8am, hoping to catch one of the two buses that departed for Acqui Terme from Milan each day. Lugging our luggage up and down the stairs to the subway was not the best part of the day. In fact, at one point, I turned to Michelle and told her that I know I will be glad I packed fun and dressy clothes when we visit Greece or go to Rome, but this was not a time to be glad about the extra weight.

Well, the bus station is outside the subway stop and has no sort of operator or cashier person to assist. Most of the bus drivers speak Italian, which is great because that's their language, and only Italian, which is not great for me. I know how to ask a question with no verbs and only key words ("Bus a Cessole?"), and that's exactly what I did. Every driver told me the same thing: no one knew what time the bus left, but they all knew which bus went to Cessole. Wouldn't you know that when Michelle checked out the bus sign, only one bus leaves for Acqui Terme each day, which is not what we found on the internet? And of course it leaves at 6:40pm. It was ok, though, because a nice guy who was nervous about his English told us that the train leaves pretty often from the train station. We only wasted 45 minutes there. No problem.

We got back on the subway. With our heavy bags. (Did I mention Michelle has a cold?) We hiked right back up the green line to four stops away from our hostel, wouldn't you know. The train station was full of people waiting in line. Important note: in many places where you need assistance in Italy (stores, train stations, I'll let you know when I come across more), you must take a ticket in order to be helped. If you just wait in line for half an hour and get to the counter without a ticket, you must go back to the automated machine, take your ticket, and wait again. Long story short: we got on a train at 1:25pm.

We arrived in Acqui Terme just after 4pm, but the next bus going to Cessole didn't depart until 6pm. I got a cappuccino and cannoli for 2.50 euro (a very good price!) while we waited at the train station bar. Some fun events happened in that town this summer, including salsa and country dancing, according to some flyers left on the walls in the bar. I thought it was neat to know that small-town Italy encourages community events like we do in the States.

When we stepped onto the bus, we told the bus driver we were headed to Cessole. Could you guess that he didn't stop at Cessole? Apparently bus riders are supposed to stand and tell the driver where they want off, even though we heard no one say a word to the driver the whole time. The kid who got off at the next town over with us kind of shrugged when I asked him how the driver was supposed to know that people wanted off his bus. He told us that the next bus didn't arrive until tomorrow, so we were out of luck as far as getting back to Cessole by bus. No worries. I had a Tim phone with tons of minutes on it (which I purchased in Milan because the phone I bought in Morocco and was planning on using with an Italian SIM card in Italy was locked and could only be used with a Moroccan SIM card in Morocco). By 7:30, Pia was there to pick us up, and she laughed at us and said, "You have to tell the driver you want off the bus!"

Hazelnut Trees

What a day! Everyone--five other WWOOFers, Pia, Mauro, their two boys, and the guests who were there for a wine tasting--welcomed us with open arms. I'll be sure to tell you all about our work on the farm and the characters here in future posts. Arrivederci!

Milan, Prego and Destra

Milan was certainly not our favorite city. I know we didn't see everything, but that is just  the problem: we were trying to "see" and didn't have time to fully experience the city. Neither of us really enjoy just seeing. Not to mention that our first day was spent recovering from jet lag. Also, Milan is one of the world's fashion capitals; we came to Italy to farm, so we weren't exactly rocking it when it came to our outfits.

We did get a chance to visit the Duomo, the fourth largest church in Europe and home of one of the nails from the Crucifixion. Of course, Michelle and I only read about the nail brought to Milan by Constantine's mom St. Helen in Rick Steve's guidebook. It's not like there are labels on these things. I think seeing relics in Italy might be a little like finding water fountains in Rome: they're all over the place but never publicized.

The view from the top of the Duomo is lovely, and you can definitely see all of Milan. You can't see 360 degrees at once, however, so you have to make your way around the top and look through the spires. I especially enjoyed visiting the baptistery, which is where St. Ambrose baptized St. Augustine at the end of the 4th century. There was literally no one else touring that basement area, but there were some construction guys working. If I had thought about it while I was there, it could have been kind of creepy, especially considering the tombs sitting around from their excavation that had taken place in the 1940s.

View from the top of the Duomo

We experienced the typical tourist trap, during which people tie yarn around your wrist while you're saying, "I'm not going to give you money for that," and they respond that it's "waka waka." Then when you sing, "this time for Africa," (which I did) they tell you that you look like Shakira and demand one euro for Africa, which I gave them out of some weird sense of guilt.

People-watching is underrated in this city, and that was our most common activity. We saw some models in front of a fountain and their photographer setting up near La Strata Opera House. We noticed a lot of people running near Sforza Castle around 4pm, which might be what business people do during their long siesta break in the middle of the day, or perhaps those people just had the day off. We saw a man playing a concert piano in the middle of Piazza Duomo. We saw an unusual amount of men wearing flowered shirts, not Hawaiian-style, but large prints on the front or small prints covering the shirt. This must be one of the newest fads for European men.

Piano Player

The most useful part of Milan, I think, was definitely the two important words we learned: prego and destra. As far as definitions go, prego means "you're welcome," but we found that prego means much more than that. "Your turn." "I can help you." "Please, go ahead." "You're fine; just go for it." "You're welcome to that." "Seriously, go ahead!" All of these phrases fall under the simple word "prego." So when, for example, you're on the Milanese subway, and some man asks you if he can sit down there, you can just go with "Prego!" What I said was, "Yeah, sure, go for it!" Thankfully, I also motioned with my hand and smiled, or he probably wouldn't have understood.

Destra means "right," as in the direction opposite to left. I can't tell you how many places are destra. The hostel was two destras, no matter who we asked along the subway exit; the Tim store was one destra; and the free bathroom in the train station was destra, destra, (hand motion for straight), and due, due, quattro, quattro per "code" (2244 was the code to enter this free bathroom. I guess if you hadn't bought lunch, they wouldn't have told you the code. That's how free it was.) If it's not destra, it's left. That's what I know.

Not that you're asking for my recommendation, but if you like fashion, money, spending, banking, material goods, and fast Italian food (The slow-paced Italian meal definitely didn't take place during lunch in Milan, but perhaps it did for families at dinner time.), then I would recommend this city to you. Otherwise, I really think you could skip it and still be fulfilled in life.

Michelle on the roof of the Duomo
(conveniently wearing a men's a-la-mode shirt) 

Intro

"There's something you should know about me," Michelle said, just after we had gotten through security at the Pittsburgh International Airport. I was worried that this was going to be the whopper. The intensity with which she packed her lunch the night before made me question the idea I had in my mind of us being great travel buddies. Maybe there was something big that was going to force this to be a rocky start. We hadn't actually spent considerable time together since I graduated college. Who knew what dark secret Michelle was hiding?

Michelle is confused by cars parked on
the sidewalk near our hostel.

"When people chomp gum, it annoys me. Really when I just see the gob of gum in someone's mouth, I find it disturbing. When I sit next to someone on an airplane who is chewing gum, I immediately put in headphones, even though I normally think headphones are rude. My biggest fear is to be on that plane with someone sitting behind me who is chomping gum."

This. This I could handle. I spent the next few minutes wondering what "something" Michelle should know about me. I couldn't think of anything big, so she'll just have to figure that out on her own, I guess.

One oddity I know we both share is our desire to try our hands at organic farming in a foreign country. Why farming? Well, why not? It's a fun way to experience a culture, not just to see a country. We'll be living and working with Italians and spending our days with farming families, and there's a whole lot of learning that can come from that. Not only is farming educational, it's cheap. And to be perfectly honest, we're cheap. And it's organic, so it's eco-friendly, sustainable, and part in parcel to social-justice living, which has become important to me over the past few years.

On the airplane!

When Michelle asked me if I would like to join her on this adventure back in the spring, I was truly concerned if this was something I "should" do. A dear friend of mine said it this way, "You're never going to say to yourself, 'I really regret organic farming in Italy for three months when I was 24.'" I hope she's right! I invite you all to journey with us as Michelle and I begin harvesting Italy.