Hitting a plateau

My caro amico in New York, who taught me Italian for a few weeks -- six years ago -- sent me an email warning me:

"I'm sure you are picking it up rapidly. I bet each day it gets better and better. Be prepared for plateaus. Watching TV helps. Listening to the radio helps too. A boyfriend is probably even better."

And he's right: I've leveled off with what I've been able to pick up talking to the locals. Now I'll start borrowing movies and listening to my lesson tapes. Maybe try to read my cooking magazine I picked up, or Cerami's Fantasmi that I brought along; a gift from my friend Peter in NY who is as much of an Italophile as I. I've never been much of a TV watcher, the radio is actually rather annoying, and well, the boyfriend prospect is in Rome!

Almost in New York

Doing things here that I often did in my beloved NYC helps bring a bit of the big apple to life to my sleepy medieval village. A couple of weeks ago, I was invited by some friends to go to an art opening in nearby Orvieto. Vanessa, my architect friend, had designed the space for Giancarlo Savino's solo exhibition, Mal di Terra. There was plenty of prosecco, wine, and good eats, including a plate of chocolate chunks to be eaten with pastries. Oh, but there was a dog allowed in the gallery. Do you supposed they'd do that in NYC?

Say Yes.

Would you like to spend three unexpected days with family friends in Roma, Positano, and Pompei?

I went down to Rome planning to spend an afternoon there... then Sandy and Lori convinced me to stay overnight with them [note: it's never difficult to ask me to change my plans]. That led to a morning spent in brilliant sunshine on the Spanish Steps while they toured the Vatican, until I received a call at noon.

"We're heading to Positano this afternoon, leaving the next day for Pompei, and we booked a room for you."

Uh, yes. Amalfi coast? Yes, yes.
So there I was, a room with a view.

San Quirico

Last week I jumped in San Quirico. I also made Gianni pull over on the side of the road so we could get some Tuscany jumps in... Cute little town with a wall built in the 12th century, and the lovely Horti Leonini Garden.

Zzzzzs.

Is someone trying to tell me something?
In February, Kirk told me about lucid dreaming which I now realize I've experienced, but never connected it to what he was talking about at the time.

Five days ago, while browsing del.icio.us, I came across an article by Jon Bischke entitled "How to have a 36-hour day" in which he references Steve Pavlina's fascinating article about "How to Become an Early Riser" and about polyphasic sleep. I clicked to these pages in tabs but then I didn't get around to reading them and closed my browser.

A day later, I went to evhead, which I occasionally visit. I've followed Ev's work since his blogger days. Hadn't been to his blog in many months, and there it was, a post that also referenced Steve Pavlina's article. Maybe Ev saw the same article I saw via del.icio.us? It was surreal to come across it twice in two days.

So I read Steve's article and then I started reading about his experiment with polyphasic sleep, and he also references lucid dreaming.

Tonight I found out that this week is National Sleep Awareness Week. No kidding. And now I'm yawning. Did you just yawn too?

Jump Kauai

In December, my friend Michael Grecco took this photo of us jumping in Kauai for my sister's fakefunk jump project. His picture of Jet Li would certainly make the cut. Cool.

Killer Lasagna

I used to disregard photographs by Ansel Adams, thinking... "well, how can you take an ugly picture of a beautiful subject?" It's bound to come out beautiful. After seeing several exhibits of his works over the years, though, I grew to appreciate his printing technique.

Likewise, how can you make a bad lasagna with incredible ingredients? Trust me, there really isn't any technique involved. I sautéed the onions, shallots, garlic, and in with the sausages directly from the butcher's... then the tomatoes, spices, and herbs from my terrace. Simmer for nearly an hour. In the meantime, I also had totally fresh hand made pasta, the freshest ricotta you ever laid eyes on -- not packaged, I had to buy it over the counter by the gram, freshly ground parmesan, and buffalo mozzarella. Into the oven for an hour, take off the cover for 20 more minutes (to get that cheese nice and toasted)... and eccola!

How could this possibly come out bad? I ate an enormous piece. And then I had seconds.

Rilke Letters

I just came across this text, by Rainer Maria Rilke, from his Letters to a Young Poet, a book that Mike sent me when I was in Vietnam -- it was quite a memorable ordeal -- and though I've left it in the States, I'm aching to read it again.

The following text was found on the internet, and so I can't accurately credit the translation (I own the Stephen Mitchell version, who also translated my Tao Te Ching):

"We have no reason to harbor any mistrust against our world, for it is not against us. If it has terrors, they are our terrors. If it has abysses, these abysses belong to us. If there are dangers, we must try to love them, and only if we could arrange our lives in accordance with the principle that tells us that we must always trust in the difficult, then what now appears to us to be alien will become our most intimate and trusted experience.

How could we forget those ancient myths that stand at the beginning of all races--the myths about dragons that at the last moment are transformed into princesses. Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are only princesses waiting for us to act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love."

-Rainer Maria Rilke

Spring Forward

For a week, we're going to be seven hours ahead of EST, ten ahead of California and five behind Vietnam... Italy observed Daylight Savings Time as of this morning so pay attention if you're going to call me!

Starting in 2007, the U.S. is going to extend DST, which was first suggested by Ben Franklin in 1784, to three weeks earlier (second Sunday in March) and end one week later than usual (first Sunday in November). We didn't catch on till WWI. Slow to learn, I guess.

On a grey day in Burano.

How could anyone not be happy living in a place like this? Even on grey days, it's quite colorful.

All mine.

I love the Italian table setting. By the time we're through with a meal, the entire table is covered in glasses. Here, I have one each for red wine, vin santo, marsala, caffe, and acqua. I skipped on Marco's homemade white wine, though I'd had it a couple of nights before -- delicious.

This was just lunch.

Benefit concert

Does it seem incongruous to you to watch an asian woman belting out tunes like "O mio babbino caro" and classics from Verdi's La Traviata and Rossini's Il Barbiere di Siviglia in Italian? It was well done at the Autism Free benefit concert in Roma last night, where we watched Sumi Jo, a Korean soprano, perform at the auditorium conciliazione just down the street from San Pietro.

Buon Primavera!

Well, I know I always say I spend all my money on food and travel (what else?), and that I do my best to uphold the function and beauty rule, but the other day I went to the market with my friends Stephen and Elisa and I had to get myself this plant. Occasionally, when beauty is great enough, I make an exception.
Happy Spring!

On the subject of food.

While we're still on the subject of food... I spent most of today cooking. I turned most of what's in this bowl (items purchased from a truck that comes to town on Saturdays) into a colorful ratatouille and then I made a delicious tomato sauce for my fresh pasta using my herbs from the terrace.

Wednesday I'm having lunch at my friends' B&B and then I head to Roma for a musical concert in front of the Vatican.

Of Cravings

For a kid from a family so obsessed with food, I hate to admit it, but it's true. I am having a craving for mi goi... instant noodles. Yes, Kung Fu brand to be exact. It's the kind we grew up with. Luckily, JK brought sesame oil and soy sauce, while Ashley brought BBQ sauce and lemongrass for me. Still.
After I saw this picture that Souris took, I'm craving a burger, too.

Long live the Umbrians

Mmm, mmm, good.
Stephen, who runs the B&B down the street with his wife, Elisa, told me that Umbrians have the longest life span of all Europeans. They're renowned for their olive oil and artichokes. Ashley and Sarah and I think it might be because they close everyday from 1 p.m. to 4 p.m. for their lunch and afternoon. Nice life!

Twelve states, two continents and one more year.

Another year gone by. Twelve states and two continents and 30,000 miles covered last year. My annual letter was designed in January but never distributed (a plethora of technical difficulties to be had here in Italy)... so here it is, at least in blog form with the last six years if you've any interest or time to kill.

The whole collection:
* 2005: Saigon, Vietnam to Kapa'a, Hawaii
* 2004: Rome, Italy to Saigon, Vietnam
* 2003: Santa Monica, California to Rome, Italy
* 2002: Sydney, Australia to Santa Monica, California
* 2001: London, England to Sydney, Australia
* 2000: Montreal, Canada to London, England
* 1999: ??? to Montreal, Canada

Office Space

View in 2004............View in 2005............View in 2006


The view from my office keeps improving (though I must admit, there might be some correlational affect on my income).

Hey, who's to complain? Not me. Not JK. Not Ashley or Sarah. No complaints to be had. Nuh-uh.

Somebody's got to play.

I wrote this email to my friend Desmond last night. We used to work together in a large windowless room divided by green cubicles.

I hope you [...] laugh when you think about the things I've been doing [...]:

Eating more homemade fresh pasta than you could shake a stick at
Drinking the best cappuccini in all of Italy every day for only 80 euro cents each
Sitting on my sunny terrace with a glass of red wine soaking in my soaring views of the mountains and countryside
Going to a private concert for 30 in a private palazzo built over 600 years ago, of a quintet playing Astor Piazzolla's tango music
Drinking home made limoncello and home made white wines made by my friends
And learning bad words in Italian.

Hey, I know. Life is hard. Somebody's got to play. It might as well be me.

places to go, people to see

Ashley and Sarah were here for a cobblestoned-street-packed week, and we took trips to Perugia, Citta della Pieve, and Assisi. My friend Gianni was sweet enough to drive us the hour out to Assisi (to drop us off!), I had a dinner party for my landlady and two friends (try making Vietnamese food in Italy... it's a challenge), and they in turn invited us to their stunning country home on the top of a hill for a pre-dinner gathering (as we also had dinner plans with another group of friends that same evening). A full week with men all over my girl friends. They all ask me now, "when are your friends returning?"

back posts

I'm in a cafe in Perugia... going to attempt back posting a few messages, but I'll post date them, or pre date them -- whatever. Maybe go past what you've already read to see them. ciao, H.

A newly filled social calendar

In the last few days, I’ve become friends with several new people in town. A French woman, Ani, and I spoke in a mix of French and Italian at the café. A gorgeous 83-year old woman chatted with me in the post office today. She was so beautiful, she reminded me of my grandmother. A younger fellow, Marcello, who plays soccer with a group of the guys here asked if I held an English course. I’m quickly filling my moleskines with slang and Monteleonese, as they say. They “mangiano le parole” – eat their words – so it can be hard to understand sometimes.

Tomorrow I head to Chiusi to pick up Ashley and Sarah for their first visit to Italy. Tuesday I’ll be having a dinner party with my landlady and some friends. The following week I’ll be helping Elisa with her computer, and Marco and Chiara with their menus. It’s good to be a little useful around here! The social calendar is full.

Città della Pieve

In Città della Pieve, I bought an egg beater from a kind woman named Veglia who spoke to me in French, English, and Italian, and told me that my eyes speak to her (Do not try this at home. It has been known to get me into trouble before.). Silvano and I headed next to the internet point which doesn't quite pass as a cafe. Fortunately, they have wi-fi so I can head to this town now and then with my laptop to work. Silvano’s cousin Mario runs the macelleria there, and I picked up two pork chops, two veal chops, 10 slices of bacon, cut to my desired thickness, 100 grams of prosciutto, four sausages, and a bag of polenta for a mere 12 euro. Note that nothing comes pre-wrapped in Styrofoam. Meat is cut as you request it. You just have to know what part of the cut you’re ordering.

Later I met Silvano at the café to go to dinner next door. Enrico, whom I’d seen many times previously at the café, was there, and we had a nice long conversation about painters, artists, photographers, architects, and museums (Lichtenstein, Rothko, Kertesz, Penn, Caravaggio...). He’s a painter and an architect himself and invited me to see his works sometime at his office in town. He also offered his office to me whenever I want to use the internet! People are so nice around here.

Silvano and I had dinner at the restaurant next door where Marco, the owner, joined us for a drink. After a long conversation, Marco asked me if I could draw (design and draw are the same word in Italian) a mural on their wall – I assured him that he wouldn’t want me to… However, we did manage to figure out that I could help them translate their menu into English, and to lay it out on my computer for them. For that, we were offered a limoncello and grappa. Cheers.

Funeral

There’s a funeral today. On my way to the café in the early afternoon, I saw a color poster posted on the announcement board in town in remembrance of Fernando Constantini. I sat in the bar for several hours – between one o’clock and two, and it was empty while everyone was home having lunch. At two o’clock, a large crowd entered, the pall bearers in suits, and others dressed casually. Everyone met to go together. I left the café shortly after and noted that a very large crowd had collected at the front gate of the old city walls – they were all meeting there to proceed to the church together. Feeling as if it would be disrespectful to walk through the crowd, I took the back road so as not to disturb them as I watched the hubbub of activity. Everyone came out of their houses, faces I’ve never seen before came out for the mass service.

Blind Date

Ciana-Carlo, the owner of the local market wanted to play matchmaker with me so this morning at the very early hour of 7:30 (I only ever awoke this early for high school, crew practice, and training rides), he drove me to a small town nearby to meet a 40-ish guy who owned a market there. We had coffee together, four of us, and then CC left me in the market for a few minutes to chat with this local fellow. In ten minutes, I learned that he was born in Città della Pieve, had lived in Torino, and had just opened his market a month ago. He just moved two months ago to a tiny village where there are only ten houses, twenty denizens, and one tower, in which there lived an Australian, American, and German (I think). The American once worked for Coca Cola, his father recently passed away and left him with a lot of real estate in Manhattan, and he was renting a car for a year to travel throughout Italy. After all this, I figured out that heck, I really do understand Italian. Before we left, CC made plans for a bunch of us to go out and have pizza together. A second group date?

After picking up his daily purchases, CC and I stopped in the back kitchen of the bakery in town where an adorable older Italian named Lello makes all the bread we eat. Cool to see.

Since I was up early and the weather stopped being disgusting (schifosi), I actually watched the sun cross the plain from my back terrace. It was so clear out – after ten days of rain – that not only could I see my mountains again, I could even see the snow on top. After an hour of caramelizing onions for my French onion soup, I spent as much of the afternoon as possible out on the terrace, a relief from the indoors.

Lezione

Silvano stopped by today to bring me an egg beater. Something was lost in translation and he brought me a blender instead. Of course, this could very well be because he thought blenders and egg beaters are the same. He hung out a while for my “Italian lesson.” We covered funerals and curse words tonight. There’s a funeral tomorrow in town. He says the whole town will be going, first to the church and then to the cemetery nearby. A young 67 year old man who was well known in town passed away after a two month long illness. Nam mo a di da Phat.

After extended conversation, and with no disrespect to the gentleman who passed away, we ended up discussing curse words. We covered what I learned from the Italians I worked with in New York, and then Silvano clarified a few others for me, and a few dialect words. Perhaps the mark of passable fluency is when others begin to teach bestemmia and parolacia.

To Fly

Much of the following two posts recap recent conversations I've had with JK while he was here. We spend a lot of time talking about love and life.
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Uprooting yourself and discarding your residence is quite an unsettling experience. I've done it countless times over the last ten years of my life.

You're flying though you sometimes feel like you're falling – it's hard to tell – and you're not sure if there’s someplace where you can put your feet down. The first time you do it, you feel a little wobbly. You're not sure if you'll float, you can’t control your direction as acutely as you will later learn, you can’t understand everything you see from your new viewpoint, and you're a little nervous. It's shaky business. I'm lucky. I have landing zones all across the country. When I get tired, I find places that feel like home where I can rest for brief periods. No matter how far you glide, you always find that you want to be back among the people you love.

On the other hand, flying is fun. You get the hang of it after a while, where each take off is easier than the last. Your new perspective is inspiring, your soul liberated, and the impact you have on others, and others upon you, is diverse and powerful. My friend Dan once wrote to me: "I know you are always going to be sort of floating around in the stratosphere dropping in on everyone from time to time to dish out your special brand of love and joy before fluttering off again." If you choose to fly, enjoy it. You'll learn much about yourself, your surroundings, and the meaning of life. And then you'll land when you’re good and ready.

Standing in the Sunshine

Don’t believe people when they tell you that you can’t do something. Throw out all the reasons why you can’t, and start thinking about why you can. In 1996, after my first AIDS Ride, I figured out what it meant to do something I thought was impossible. But it turned out to be possible. I didn’t just step outside the box. I shattered it.

The same is true with food. After years of testing my taste for olives, in our three weeks together, JK has converted me into an olive eater, and I’ve turned him on to artichokes – every preparation possible. When we were in Rome, I suggested we order an appetizer neither of us ever would have ordered under normal circumstances. We chose the peperoncino con acciughe – mini peppers stuffed with anchovies and capers. A successful gastronomical adventure.

JK and I talk about stepping beyond our boundaries constantly. Forcing ourselves to do it, whether it means trying a new food, moving to a new country, climbing an unknown staircase, embracing new people into our lives, taking a leap of faith. And then landing on our feet.

I know I can do anything. I can go anywhere. And I’m always going to be all right. Once you break your boundaries, you open a world filled with acute sensations and grand opportunity. Living in your box – your limits – is like living in your state and never crossing the borders. Imagine all those Americans who have never left their state. Imagine all those Americans who have never left the United States. Imagine never moving beyond your boundaries.

Cross your fence. You’ll find yourself on the other side… still standing… in the sunshine.

Quiet.

JK and Tracy left today and the house is sad and quiet. After ten straight days of rain and gloom throughout Tracy’s stay, the sun has finally reappeared, an hour after their departure.

Dinner for Four. Children.

Silvano drove Tracy, JK and I out to Fabro for our last dinner together. Tracy and JK are like kids. I can’t stop laughing around them. “Am I going to have to put you two together?” I scold. I think Silvano and I qualified as immature patrons too, once he started throwing balled up bread at me. Though he speaks no English, it was brilliant to watch how Tracy and Silvano’s similar sense of humor transcended any need for translation. Nothing was lost between them. There was one misunderstanding when Silvano asked me if I was going to cry. JK put his arm around me. “Not about you leaving,” I cleared up. “About the restaurant being out of polenta!”