(Editors Note: Below are some snippets recounting some of the events during Cindy and Gary's last few weeks in Italy and some thoughts on a few parts of their experience— enjoy!)
Thanksgiving
We celebrated Thanksgiving in Italy — although it was just another day for the Italians. I did a bit of research and learned you could order a whole turkey from the butcher a month in advance. Well, I missed that deadline, and a whole turkey seemed a bit much for two people. So, we bought turkey cutlets at the market — they were cut thin, probably a quarter of an inch or less. I made a stuffing and rolled it in the cutlets and baked them, basting with broth. We had peas, glazed carrots and potatoes mashed with stracchino cheese. (This was my favorite cheese when I was a student here; it is a semi-soft cheese made from cow or goat milk. The goat milk one is the best and the one we always had on hand. I have never found it made from goat milk in the United States.)
It was a lovely dinner, with wine (of course), and we were thankful for this marvelous opportunity we had to be in Italy.
Cooking Class
When my cousin’s daughter Casey and her new husband, Travis, visited, we arranged a cooking class taught by Francesca and her chef husband, Francesco. The four of us made pasta (we used a hand crank roller mainly, but also learned how to roll by hand and cut). We made tagliatelle and ravioli stuffed with spinach and ricotta, ragu sauce, and tiramisu.
I always thought I made a great ragu — just like my grandmother’s — but I did learn a few things. Cut the vegetables smaller, and make sure they are all the same size (or close to it) so they cook evenly. Use more and stronger red wine in the ragu. (Should have thought of that one myself.) I always cut by hand, and that is what Francesco instructed; he said if you use the “robot” to cut your vegetables, the heat will change the flavor. They used ground veal, which is very common in Italy and not as high-priced as here, and ground pork. I generally use ground beef or lamb but will start using ground pork in the mix too and ground veal when I can find and afford it.
The ragu smelled marvelous as it simmered for a few hours while we made pasta and tiramisu. That night, after all was put away, I awoke around 3 a.m. and walked out of the bedroom to get a glass of water and as soon as I opened the bedroom door, the smell of the ragu hit me; I admit to sneaking a couple spoonfuls for the leftovers along with my glass of water. That smell hit us every time we entered the house for two or three days afterwards. It was perfume.
Our instructors explained that tiramisu is really a French dessert. Italians usually eat fruit and cheese for dessert, but cakes and rich desserts were introduced when the French took control of many parts of Italy in centuries past. Although you will find tiramisu on menus, in most homes it or other cake-like desserts (usually cakes soaked in some sort of liqueur) are only for big celebrations and special occasions. Otherwise, dessert is the traditional fruit and cheese.
The tiramisu we made was softer and more pudding-like than cake-like; it was much different than what we are used to, but we liked it even better than the tiramisu to which we are accustomed.
Italian Television
In Florence our television got only news stations; a few times a week we watched BBC World News and occasionally Italian news shows which we could half decipher when words scrolled across the bottom. The news shows almost always included a piece about a festival or celebration somewhere in Italy — chestnut festivals, truffle festivals, historical celebrations.
In Siena, our television received dozens of stations. There were several English language stations — or at least they occasionally showed English language movies and shows. How they chose them I do not know — usually old movies, often westerns, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, The Jeffersons, The Closer, The Mentalist, and Little House on the Prairie are the ones that I remember flipping through. Then, there were American and British shows dubbed in Italian — Law & Order is the one I recall seeing most — I think they ran it 24 hours a day — , Love It or List It; Property Brothers. No House Hunters International though.
Then there was the Food Channel. Cooking shows are great to watch in another language because the talking does not matter as much — you can see and understand what is going on and pick up some vocabulary in the process. There were several Italian versions of Chopped or Master Chef and other cooking contests. These were with Italians and produced there, or so it appeared. We also saw one or two episodes of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, dubbed in Italian, but featuring eateries in California, Delaware and other states. But by far the oddest American show broadcast, dubbed in Italian, was Man v. Food — which seemed to be showing nearly every time we turned the tv on.
On one channel there was a home-grown Italian cooking show — Il Menu di Benedetta, featuring Benedetta Parodi. Benedetta talked fast, but you could watch what she was doing and there was a split screen in which the recipe and ingredients were written out, so we were able to understand her recipes and techniques. Occasionally she brought a guest on to assist or prepare a special recipe. Benedetta did a Thanksgiving special. She roasted, not a whole turkey, but a breast, leg and thigh. She made a dressing and cooked that separately. As she prepared it and popped it in her oven, I thought it was the driest looking dressing I had ever seen. Sure enough, part way through the show, smoke started coming from the oven. I never saw the finished product.
Another time Benedetta made Chinese dumplings — steamed in a bamboo basket. She seemed to do a fine job, and we chuckled when the recipe appeared on screen — titled “Chinese Ravioli”.
Health Care
Shortly after our arrival in Siena, Gary experienced a dizzy spell while we were walking home from the old city. A few days later it happened again on our way home from the grocery store. The third dizzy spell occurred when we were walking to the old city with Dick & Victoria Lister. That time he was slow to re-orient; we were near a pharmacy, so I took him there and had his blood pressure read. It was off the charts; the pharmacist called a taxi for us and we went to the hospital emergency room.
When we checked in, they immediately took Gary in and took his blood pressure, which was still a bit high, but within an acceptable range. Then they immediately did an EKG, which was normal. All of this was done by the gentleman who checked us in and right next to his station at the check-in window.
In the meantime, he asked us for our information — name, address, identification, where we were staying. I offered him our insurance card; he replied, “No need.” I told him our insurance would cover 80 per cent of the costs and that we could pay the balance or that we could access cash for the full amount or pay by credit card. He again replied, “No need. There is no cost. You will only be charged if he is admitted to the hospital and stays more than three days. After the third day there is a charge. That is the way we do it here, whether you are a citizen, non-citizen or visitor. We do not want people being sick in our country.”
I think that alone reduced Gary’s blood pressure. They then wheeled him into a triage room and a nurse and doctor came in and between my Italian and their English, they obtained a brief medical history and the names of medications Gary was taking. They drew blood and did a chest x-ray. The doctor came in to talk to Gary a couple more times. After all the results came back, they told us everything came back normal and that there was no acute illness that required hospitalization. It apparently was a flare-up of his COPD and they prescribed a nebulizer with medications and continued use of his inhaler, which I picked up at a pharmacy.
As soon as we arrived home, we contacted Gary’s doctor in the United States; we needed to know if we should return home or if there was anything else we should do. He called us and asked if Gary had the prednisone he prescribed for such situations, which, of course, Gary did not have — he had left it at home. So, his doctor emailed us a note describing what he needed and the dosage. I took that email to a pharmacy and asked the pharmacist if we could have a10-day supply. (Laura was leaving for Italy the following day and would be arriving in Siena the following week, so we would have her bring the medications sitting in our medicine chest at home.) The pharmacist filled the request and apologized for having to charge us explaining that if we had a prescription from an Italian doctor there would be no cost. We were still getting over the shock of no charge for the hospital emergency room visit.
Of course, in Italy there are progressive tax rates and certain professions can be taxed at rates as high as 70 per cent. I guess that is the price they pay for free medical care and free or low-cost college tuition.
In the meantime, we also had new prescriptions filled at home and had Stephen bring them a couple weeks later when he came for a visit. Within several days, Gary was back to normal and getting around fine.
Return to Rome
We returned to Rome for three days at the end of our stay — and we were not looking forward to it, given our experiences there in September.
I am pleased to say that Rome in December is a delight. If you ever go to Rome, go in December. There are no crowds, the streets, stores, piazzas and by-ways twinkle with lights. Shops put down red rugs in front of their doors; decorations in store windows, outside churches, and in piazzas are lovely. Many shops, apartment buildings and churches set out the beginnings of manger scenes — Mary, Joseph and an empty crib, in which a baby Jesus will be laid on Christmas Eve.
We stayed at a lovely hotel near the Piazza Navonna, but enough distance to not be a strictly tourist neighborhood. There were shops and wonderful cafes and restaurants nearby in which we were often the only English-speakers. We wandered through the surrounding streets each evening; there were small piazzas filled with Italians sitting at tables, drinking, eating, playing games and enjoying the often-live music.
I had scheduled a tour of the scavi, or excavations, beneath St. Peter’s Basilica. (Gary did not want to go as he is claustrophobic, and the web site warned against the tour for people with claustrophobia.) I left our hotel shortly after 8 am to walk to St. Peter’s. The day was partly overcast and as I neared the center of a bridge over the Tiber River, St. Peter’s came into view. The early morning sun and clouds made it appear purely mystical. I stood there for several minutes just staring, enthralled.
The tour lasted 90 minutes and was fascinating. The area was originally a circus, or small racing arena. Then there came a necropolis, or burial ground, for both Romans and early Christians. St. Peter was buried there, and his tomb was marked and often visited by Christians through the first few centuries after his death. They wrote inscriptions and prayers on the walls around his tomb. Constantine then built the first basilica there in the fourth century and put the altar above the tomb. Each basilica since then has placed the altar in the same spot. Excavations began in the 1940s and continued for years as each layer was uncovered and the floors of the earlier basilicas were uncovered, as were the altars. Many of the tombs from the early necropolis have been uncovered and we walked by them and could observe murals and carvings identifying the individuals buried there. The tour ended in the area where many more recent popes are buried and then we could enter the basilica itself.
Gary and I had arranged to meet one another in the basilica — in front of Michelangelo’s Pieta. Gary did not want to wait in a long line to enter the basilica, so we had agreed that if we did not see one another inside by a certain time, we would meet outside at the obelisk in the piazza. We found each other within a few minutes. The lines for those who did not have entrance from a tour were non-existent in December. Gary said there were four or five people going through security in front of him, and that was it.
We were so thrilled to find no crowds and so charmed by Rome this time that we decided our next trip to Rome will be in December.
“That’s Italy!”
As our flight home left from Rome, we had to get ourselves and our four suitcases (in which were packed 15 liters of olive oil) from Siena to Rome. We had assumed we would take a train, but Francesca, our Sienese landlady suggested a bus. She said that most Sienese took the bus to Rome because it was an express bus, quicker, and less expensive than the train. There is no direct train from Siena to Rome, so we would have had to change trains and that may have involved a wait of two hours at an intermediate station. And, the thought of us trying to get four bags on and off two trains, especially at an intermediate, quick stop, was not a pleasant one.
So, I went on-line and bought two bus tickets. The day before we were to leave, I was checking the confirmation and realized I had made an error — the confirmation said two bags, and when I had made the reservation, I thought it was two bags per person, but it was two bags total. There was a link to click to make changes, but when I got there the links to make the changes did not work.
So, I called the bus company. The bus company was in Germany and a very business-like German woman who spoke English informed me that yes, I could add one additional bag per passenger for the cost of four euros per bag and we would pay the driver. No problem. Then she told me each bag could weigh no more than 20 kilos. I told her I though we had one large bag that weighed more than 20 kilos. She told me that I could not bring that bag on the bus. “Your bag will be left behind.” I said that could be a problem. She repeated that if a bag weighed more than 20 kilos it would be left behind. I asked if we got to the bus and our bag weighed more, could we cancel our reservation at that time. “No need,” she said. “You can still ride the bus, but your bag will be left behind.” I told her that made no sense, why would we do that? She repeated, “You can ride the bus; your bag will be left behind.” We went around and around like that for a few minutes and I was never told that I could cancel our bus ticket, only that our bag would be left behind. I finally thanked her and hung up.
We began to worry. We thought, well, if we cannot take our bags, we will have to get on a train, rent a car and drive to Rome, or hire a driver to take us there. Francesca was planning to drive us to the station to catch the bus, so I texted her and told her about the situation and the possibility that we would have to make alternate arrangements at the last minute.
She called back — said don’t worry. Whenever she had been there it was chaos with people getting on the bus, putting bags on the bus, saying good-bye. She said the driver usually just opened the bottom of the bus and told everyone to put their bags on. She said, “Just be Italian, put your bags on the bus without hesitation and then just get on the bus.” No need to worry about rules or regulations.
So, the next morning we went to the station. We stood there with our four bags and five or six other people (only one of whom had two bags) waiting for the bus. The bus pulled up. The driver got out. He opened doors at the bottom on both sides and said, “Rome, this side; Bari the other side.” Then he leaned back and lit a cigarette. He watched us wheel our four bags up and start putting them on the bus. He walked over and helped us with the largest bag (which was very large). Then returned to his leaning post and cigarette. We got on the bus. A few minutes later the driver got on the bus, closed the door and off we went. He never asked for the extra eight euros; he never weighed our bags; and he never checked anyone’s ticket. We could have simply gotten on that bus for free. (Do you think in Germany drivers had a scale to weigh bags?)
We arrived in Rome two-and-one-half hours later and took a taxi to our hotel. We texted Francesca about our experience on the bus.
Her texted reply — “That’s Italy!”
