Pier and Rosanna's hotel in Albiano. WONDERFUL place!!!! :)

Ivrea

Ivrea is famous for one thing: an annual food fight when the whole town turns out to pelt each other with oranges.

Pier, the proprietor of my hotel in Albiano, says that when the fight is over, the whole town is an inch deep in orange juice, and it smells great. Cleanup is a real challenge, though. :)

Ivrea

Catching Up: Turin

I've taken a short break from writing blog posts because I've spent most of the past week in my grandmother's hometown digging up family records and exploring the area. I'll write about that process soon, but I wanted to slow down and enjoy things and absorb more before forcing my impressions to crystallize into posts. It has been an amazing visit, easily one of the highlights of my trip, and I'll describe it shortly. But for now, I'll get caught up and talk about the city I visited immediately before coming to Albiano: Turin.

I fell in love with Turin a little, and I ended up staying there for five days and four nights, far longer than I had expected. I probably would have moved on a day sooner, except Turin has some wonderful museums, all of which are closed on Mondays, so I stayed through this past Tuesday so that I could check out one that I was particularly interested in visiting. Prior to my arrival, I knew very little about the city, other than that it had a famous shroud and that it hosted the 2006 Winter Olympics. It took almost no time to realize what a special place it is.

Turin is in the northwest part of Italy, in a province known as Piedmont. Not too far from Milan, these two cities have dominated the Italian economy for centuries. Some of Italy's largest corporations are located in this part of the country, and Turin is a city that wears that wealth really well. It is so beautiful--the Italian Alps are visible in the distance, the city has plenty of nicely manicured green spaces and a tranquil turquoise river, the architecture is spectacular, the museums are plentiful and high-quality, the theater and opera are well represented, and it feels like there's a bookstore on every street corner.

The people here are dripping with style--and I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb in contrast. Theirs is the kind of style that is probably expensive, but the expense isn't what you notice--you notice the individuality and care and taste that go into the people's clothes and shoes and hair and accessories. Everything looks so carefully selected, like dressing is an artistic pursuit. Italian fashion reminds me of Catalan architecture: it's all about the style and vision--practicality and expense be damned! Even the women in the train station pulling their (matching) luggage and carrying their shoulder bags are teetering around in four inch heels and skirts. That is definitely not my sartorial sensibility most of the time, and especially when I'm living for three months out of a backpack with clothes that had to work in Morocco. Let's just say that in my flip flops and cargo pants, nobody is mistaking me for a local here. But it is such a treat to people-watch. In any part of the country, this is true to a certain extent, but in Turin, it is immediately noticeable.

I spent hours and hours just walking around the neighborhoods in Turin, sometimes taking photos, sometimes just looking. Oh, and eating and drinking. Especially eating and drinking! :) Turin is a great restaurant town, especially if you can find good neighborhood places. I went to a little family-run place east of the railroad station, and I think I was the only person there who wasn't from the neighborhood. It seemed to be me and a lot of regulars who knew each other. The menu was a half sheet of printer paper listing about four appetizers, four pasta courses, four second courses, and three desserts, which is just the way I like it because it means that everything is fresh and they're concentrating on a few things that they can do well on that particular day. The menu was in Italian, and usually I can figure out the options without too much trouble, but the words on this one didn't really register. So I asked the waiter what he thought was best, and I ended up with an out-of-this-world meal. :) It was a piece of tuna in a rich fish stock with a few tomatoes, capers, and some very flavorful fresh parsley, served over inch-wide long strips of fresh homemade pasta. And the panna cotta for dessert was amazing. If you're not familar with panna cotta, it is a white custard/pudding dish that tastes a lot like the best rice pudding you've ever eaten, only with a creamy smooth texture. Yum!

The only thing better than the food was the bumper crop of bookstores. I was amazed at how many I saw--I must've gone into 20 of them in just the few days I was in town. Even if the books are all in Italian and I can't read anything there, I still like to go in and peek: you never know what you're going to find. My favorite bookstore in Italy thus far was one in Lucca that had a cafe and a liquor license and a big selection--kind of like Kramer Books in DC, only not crowded. I was there on a weekday morning, but you could just see what a center of the community the store was--notices pinned up on the walls, well-worn easy chairs in the cafe, lots of knowledgeable clerks around helping people. That said, I was overjoyed to walk up a street in Turin and see a sign that said, "British Bookstore." The entire second story of the shop was loaded with books in English--yay!!!

I bought a book on post-war Italy, and after reading a couple of chapters, I realized that I needed more context from the years before. So the next day I went back and picked up another book that is even better, called The Force of Destiny: A History of Italy Since 1796. It sounds dry as a bone, but I know embarrassingly little about Italian history and the author is a great writer, so I'm learning and it's entertaining at the same time. Italian history turns out to be really good material to work with.

I was particularly glad to find a good book about Italian history because the museum that I had been so interested to visit in Turin was the Museo de Risorgimento, a museum dedicated to modern Italian history. It was closed for renovations until earlier this year, and I think they're still working out some of the kinks. It was a bit of a disappointment, particularly because they seemed to have some great stuff there, but they just didn't seem to be well-prepared for non-Italian speaking visitors. There was an English audio tour, but none of the staff could tell me in English how to use it, and the audio guide itself didn't include instructions. All I could get was a two-sentence introduction to each of the twenty-something rooms of the museum--the same introduction that was printed on a card in each room. (eye-roll). I know the guide contained a lot more information, but I tried everything to access it, and I could never get the stream of information coming out to match what I was seeing in the rooms. And all the text labeling the exhibits was only in Italian. I understand why they needed to do that--it would have looked cluttered to include English and/or French as well. But at the same time, I thought it would have been cool if they had made the place more accessible to visitors who are trying to understand Italy better. In the whole country, this would have been one of the finest places to go to learn about how modern Italy evolved, and yet the access was restricted mostly to Italians themselves. I thought it was kind of a shame, but at the same time I still feel guilty for being an English-speaker thinking that the world should revolve around English speakers. Oh well. I did get to see a room where the Italian parliament met for a few weeks, though, and the building itself was beautiful, so it wasn't a complete waste of time. It's always just sad to see near-misses that could so easily be great.

One museum in Turin that definitely did NOT disappoint was the modern art gallery. What an enthralling place! They did something there I've never seen before. They set aside four or five different wings of the gallery and let a handful of professors from various non-artistic disciplines gather together works of art that shed light on their areas of expertise. It was fascinating: a religion professor collected works of art that portrayed aspects of the soul. A psychology professor curated a wing examining mental illness and art. Each area contained works from vastly different ages and artistic schools, and they posted at the beginning of each wing a great introduction explaining some of the insights that the professors felt the works expressed. I've never seen a gallery organized quite like that before, and I thought it was really innovative and cool.

Turin was wonderful, but last Wednesday I finally packed up and headed to Ivrea, the nearest town to the village where my grandmother was born. Two trains and a commuter bus later, I was the first member of my immediate family to have returned to a place she emigrated from 98 years ago. To be continued! :)

The Grounds of Castello di Masino, Caravino

Breakfast

The view from Castello di Masino, looking towards Albiano

Albiano, my grandmother's village

Albiano

Albiano

In the foreground, you can see part of a vineyard on the hill. And you can also see the buildings along Vicolo Rolla at the bottom of the hill.

Albiano

I feel like i just stepped into a painting

This is just outside Albiano--the town was to my back as I took the picture.

Ivrea

Ivrea

Ivrea

Vineyard in Albiano

Mary on the Half Shell DOES exist outside Long Island!

Wow, this could be straight out of a family album!

Albiano

Viccolo Rolla

Viccolo Cauda

Turin's Museo del Risorgimento

Well, How Did I Get Here?

Plane from Washington Dulles to Madrid
Bus to Barcelona
Bus back to Madrid
Train to Toledo
Train to Madrid
Flight to Marrakesh
Van to Cascades D'Ouzoud
Van to Ouzazate
Van to Merzouga
Van to Marrakesh
Tourist bus to Essaouira
Tourist bus to Agadir
Chicken bus to Taroudant
Grand taxi to Marrakesh
Train to Casablanca
Train to El Jadida
Train to Rabat
Train to Meknes
Train to Fez
Chicken bus to Chefchaouen
Chicken bus to Tetouan
Train to Tangier
Train to Casablanca
Flight to Rome
Train to Florence
Train to Siena
Train to Pisa
Train to Lucca
Train to Genoa
Train to Torino

Trip Metrics at the Two Month Mark

Days of travel: 61
Countries visited: 3
Cities explored: 26
Days spent in English-speaking countries: 0
Flights: 3
Cancelled flights: 1 (I'm still mad, Iberia)
Bus trips: 8 (4 tourist buses; 4 Moroccan chicken buses)
Train trips: 14
Grand taxi/van rides: 8
Lodging establishments stayed in: at least 28
Nights spent in a tent in the Sahara: 1 (Still gives me goosebumps to think of it!)
Pictures taken: 6,189
Mosques and medersas visited: 3
Cathedrals visited: at least 6
Michelangelo sculptures spotted: at least 6
Picassos viewed: more than 60
Museums visited: ummmm, probably north of 25
Guidebooks used: 8
Guidebooks jettisoned after leaving the cities/regions/countries in question: 7
Other books read: 6 (Emma, Madame Bovary, Sense and Sensibility, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, Winter in Madrid, Leaving Tangier)
Books currently reading: 3 (A Room With A View, Dracula, and, nerd alert, Paul Ginsborg's A History of Contemporary Italy 1943-1980)
Cases of bedbug bites: 1 (I'm looking at you, Auberge Riad Douzi in Marrakesh)
Cases of bedbug bites resulting in disgusting large lumps on my legs filled with clear fluid which hurt and bled when ruptured: 1 (anything to say for yourself, Auberge Riad Douzi in Marrakesh? Hmm? Hmm?)
Aerial bombing by birds: 2
Muggings: 1
Aerial bombings by birds occurring within a half hour of being mugged: 1
Cases of food poisoning-related puking: 1 (Ah, Fez, the memories. . . .)
Days when breakfast in Morocco consisted of dry white bread: 31
Vegetable tagines consumed: estimating at least 25
Pounds lost in Morocco: best guess, between 7 and 10
Pounds gained in Italy thus far: best guess, between 5 and 7
Additional pounds to be gained in Italy: too fearful to contemplate but not so fearful as to prevent one from eating gelato and pasta every day
Phone calls received: 0
Dishes washed: 2
Average amount of time spent on chores of any kind: maybe 1 hour per week
Pieces of snail mail received: 0
Minutes of television watched: maybe about 30 cumulatively
Hours frittered away on Facebook: a hilarious or horrifying amount, depending on how you look at it
Days I've worn jeans or dress clothes: 0
Days I've wanted to be exactly where I am: 61
Amazing people met: countless
Experiences I will never forget: countless
Miles traveled: Many, but not enough yet.

I Can't Believe It: End of Month Two!

It seems almost unbelievable to me, but I've been on the road for a full two months as of today. I'm really starting to miss my friends and family and dog and house, but at the same time I feel as though I've just gotten started exploring all the places that I want to see and doing all the things I want to do. Despite missing home and the small inconveniences and the not-so-small expense, there is no question in my mind that taking this trip at this moment was the right decision for me. It has been life-altering, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I still wake up every day amazed that I get to do this.

One thing that I have learned during this journey is that traveling for two months--especially without a return ticket home--is completely different from a long vacation. The mental space is entirely unlike that of a vacation. On this trip, the world seems small and possibilities seem limitless. If I woke up tomorrow with a sudden overwhelming urge to see Thailand, I could be in Bangkok by the end of the week. Nothing is stopping me. This is no mere vacation. My first thought when I wake up in the morning isn't how many days I have left before I have to go home. For once, I don't have to try to use two precious weeks' holiday to balance desperately needed R&R with a desire to explore and discover new things. My options and plans and timelines are all fluid, which is allowing me to be fully present where I am, without worrying about how I'm allocating valuable time. It's novel to me and I love it.

Besides the length of the trip, being alone has brought certain benefits as well. I had never given it a lot of thought before, but traveling slowly and alone is probably the single best way to encounter a different culture, short of actually living in it. Especially in Morocco, but also in Spain and Italy, traveling by myself and never being in a rush has made me very approachable. People have been so friendly and open, and their unhurried conversations on trains, in cafes, in shops, and in guesthouses have opened up new worlds and ideas for me. I made friends in Morocco who told me all about their upbringings and their religious faith and their beliefs about education and family, and they were interested in hearing how my outlook was different from theirs. I seriously cannot think of any experience I would rather have had than participating in those conversations.

Mark Twain said "Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness." I don't think that's entirely true, and I would certainly never assert that my travels have eradicated those characteristics in me, but wow traveling is good at challenging assumptions about people and cultures. I know it's a pipe dream, but if more Americans traveled in Muslim countries and vice versa, I think it would do so much to reduce tension and misunderstandings between our cultures. After being in Morocco for a month, I would be the last person to try to minimize the cultural differences: they are big and sometimes they chafe. But if you can talk about them over a cup of mint tea with somebody you genuinely like and respect, and who seems to genuinely like and respect you back, it helps to put differences in perspective, setting them against so much that we share in common. I think it would make everybody just a little less susceptible to leaders who try to teach us to fear each other. In both cultures, by the way.

In any case, these two months have disappeared much too quickly. But for as short a time as it has seemed, some of the things I've seen and learned will stay with me permanently. I think that the time I spent in Morocco will forever affect my sense of gratitude for my own life. Traveling alone has made me more self-reliant and flexible and outgoing. It's made me more decisive and comfortable accepting full responsibility for my choices. The protracted time away from my old routine has shaken me free of so many ruts; I try new things every day now. Also, I am a marvel at packing now. :)

Before I sign off, I want to extend my thanks again to the people who have helped make my trip possible. Paul, I'm so grateful to you for taking care of the house and the dog while I'm away! Mom and Dad, thanks for your unflagging encouragement and moral support, and thanks for taking all of my calls. :) Thanks to Jane, Janet, Mark, Brian, Stan, and all my other friends for your emails and all the Facebook love--I would be so lonely without all of you keeping in touch. Thanks a million, everybody!

On to month three! :)

The Po River in Turin

Torino construction site

Public art, Torino

Confectioner's shop in Torino

Torino

Turin

Saw this in Genoa. Awesome. :)

Pirates, Robber Barons, and More Tomatoes

After a couple of days here, I am beginning to think that Genoa might be my favorite Italian city yet. It is miraculously--mercifully--free of hordes of tourists, and yet it has tons to offer. Genoa is Italy's busiest port and sixth largest city, and its history is waaaay cool. For centuries, especially before hometown boy Christopher Columbus opened up trade routes with North America, Genoa was a key nerve center between east and west. Its shipbuilding and seafaring trade made it one of the most important cities in the world--and, according to my Rough Guide, so did its "colonial exploitation and piracy." Pirates!!! Because of the massive flow of trade through the city, it grew rich and powerful and cosmopolitan, with fabulously wealthy merchant families engaged in vendetta over turf.

Genoa is still an important city, but its fortunes have waned over the centuries. You can walk through the narrow, twisty streets and still see vestiges of the city's glory years, but things are grittier now, in a way that manages to give the city character without making you fear for your life taking a stroll. You just keep your bag close and stay out of the darkest corners and it's hopefully all good. It's exactly the kind of city that I love. It's a little bit Barcelona and a little bit Tangier, elegant and edgy all at once.

I've spent much of my time here visiting the palatial former homes of the owners of Genoa's merchant banks, who were essentially the city's royalty. Most of the homes have been turned into museums that display the families' art collections and intact furnishings. Although my personal taste runs much more towards modern art than old masters, it's still been cool to see all the restored paintings, and I love the sculpture. Admittedly, though, it is admiring the robber barons, so it's maybe nine parts appreciation of the beauty and one part repugnance at the unimaginable opulence while others had so little. Actually maybe more than one part repugnance.

The best thing to do in Genoa, though, is just to walk. Genoa reminds me a lot of Fez--the old city's streets are an incomprehensible rabbit warren of tiny passages closed to cars, jutting off at unpredictable angles. But the buildings are much taller, which gives the place a shadowy and somewhat claustrophobic ambience. I had a great talk with the curator of one of the museums as we stood on the roof terrace looking out over the city. He explained that as a rich port city, Genoa was constantly under threat of attack, and because it was a port, it was impractical to build a wall around it. So the narrow, twisting streets were partly a defense mechanism: attacking troops couldn't march into the city in wide, sweeping columns--they had to come in lines of three and four across, always in danger of getting lost, and with bloodthirsty Genoans throwing rocks down on the soldiers the whole time. Again according to the Rough Guide, Henry James called Genoa, "the most winding, incoherent of cities, the most entangled topographical ravel in the world." Clearly he hadn't been to Fez, but after talking with the curator, it makes a lot more sense why Genoa developed this way.

I've spent hours just walking in circles, seeing how lost I can get before finding my way back. Yesterday, I found the "Oriental Market," which is a centuries-old covered market with stalls selling everything from fresh fish to bedsheets, although most of the space is for fruits and vegetables. The smell was fantastic: peaches and cherries are in season, and the fruity scent was mingling with the peppery smell of tomatoes overflowing from all the stalls. And astonishingly, there were no tourists there. I was so tempted to take pictures, but it just felt wrong, so I didn't. Instead, I bought tomatoes and buffalo mozzarella and made myself a picnic at my hotel.

So far, Genoa has been my favorite place in Italy, but of course the trip marches on. Today, I head north, to Turin, near where my grandmother was born. I am so looking forward to seeing her hometown for the first time. She passed away years ago, and I feel like this will be a way to feel close to her again. Let's see what happens. Off to catch my train!

Palazzo Reale, Genoa

Genoa

Genoa's historic area is a rabbit warren of narrow streets closed to auto traffic, very reminiscent of Morocco, although the shops are much larger and more prosperous.

Genoa

Dome of Ss. Annunziata, Genoa

Genoa

Headstone in Pisa's Cemetery

Pisa cemetary