1 Maggio 2007

We have finally begun the first days of summer (although last night we had quite a hard downpour again and everything is now hanging in the sun to dry). The winds have calmed, the sun has returned after a long stretch of gray rainy days, and everything is suddenly shockingly green. The air smells different with the heat of the sun releasing new scents and new flowers blooming every day. This has also brought the return of the tourists, including the looming cruise ship that is momentarily parked outside our window. It is so close that I can even hear the announcements over the loudspeaker. The weather is particularly wonderful because my parents were just here and were able to enjoy long mornings on the porch watching the boats go by and listening to the birds singing.

I have to start back in March - the beginning of the crazy period of travel and guests. It all began when we boarded the overnight ferry to the mainland in order to meet our friends from San Diego in Tuscany for the weekend. In the wee morning light, we disembarked in the industrial port of Livorno and headed to the lovely walled city of Lucca, protected by its ramparts from the invading Pisans and Medicis. We had a delightful walk in the warming sun with hardly another soul on the streets, as the ferry gets in at 6am, and a cappuccino and a local specialty rice pastry of some kind in the main piazza. Just as we were heading out, we got a call from Scott to say that Anne had taken a fall in Rome and broken her ankle and that they would not, for obvious reasons, be meeting us as planned at the train station in Pisa. With plans up in the air for the moment, we took a little detour to another walled town, San Gimignano, where we ducked into a small trattoria for lunch just as the ran began to fall and managed to eat and drink until the sun returned and we got a call from Scott saying the they were on a train on their way to Florence.

Once in the Florence, we had a bit of an adventure getting around, as Anne was hobbling around on crutches. But, we managed to see the Uffizi with the help of a wheelchair and to have a picnic at the Piazza Michelangelo, overlooking the city, complete with Antic Noë sandwiches (a 400 year old shop we discovered on our honeymoon with the best sandwiches anywhere) before leaving for a gorgeous drive through the Tuscan countryside. We stopped in Greve in Chianti at the Verazzano winery (namesake of the New York bridge) where we tasted wonderful wines as well as the best balsamic vinegar I’ve ever had. The views from the winery's castle were unreal – terra cotta roofed houses dotting the landscape perched atop bright green hills rolling into the distance and lined with single-file rows of tall cypresses. Our first night in Tuscany, we stayed at a wonderful agriturismo in Greve that was tucked on a hillside just outside of town. The old stone building had lovely terraces and a cozy breakfast room where the owners left us a caraf of their homemade wine to taste before our dinner out in town. Staying there was a bit complicated, however, by the fact that we were the first guests of the season and, therefore, the first to discover (while waiting barefoot on the chilly tile floors for the water to warm up) that the boiler that heated the hot water was not yet lit. The heat in the rooms was also barely detectable, but the setting and the hospitality of the owners made up for it. After a few days of travel, we headed back to the tranquility of Sardegna to rest tired (and some broken) limbs. Unfortunately, we were in the midst of a stretch of bad weather, so we spent the first few days back reading, visiting and eating well until the Easter weekend brought us longed-for glorious sunshine. Our friends in La Maddalena put on a lovely Easter meal in their yard with meats on the grill and an array of cakes and gelatos for desert and we whiled away the afternoon, helped along by a bit of wine. Monday, we set off for more of an adventure than we’d planned in order to see the Festa di Torrone (torrone is a local toffee-like candy made with honey and nuts) in the town of Tonara near where I’d seen the Mamuathones at the start of Carnevale season. It was the Italian holiday of Pasquetta (the day after Easter) when everyone packs picnics and camps out in a green spot in the country for the afternoon with their friends and family. It was a wonderful sight to see everyone spread out in the sun. The festival itself was surprisingly crowded, especially after passing through many sleepy towns along the way. We sampled many varieties of torrone from limoncello to mirto to cioccolata and all types of nuts. The women making the torrone were impressively stirring giant cauldrons of sticky candy, rapidly beating the sides with large wooden spoons as they stirred it around and around. Another neat find of the day was a snow-capped peak in the town of Fonni, the highest village in Sardegna. This is the first snow we’ve seen here.

I have yet to mention that, amongst all of our visitors, I started and now have finished a cooking class at an agriturismo just up the road from here. I saw the advertisement for it at the local Pescheria (fish shop) and, after fearing that it would be cancelled for lack of enough people, I managed to round up a few other Americans with the promise that I would play translator for them during the lessons. The remainder of the students are middle-aged Italian women with one young woman about my age. Because of the linguistic challenges, the class started out fairly segregated, but, by the end, there was much joking around, mostly at the expense of the young Americans and their lack of culinary skills. Most importantly, though, I have learned how to make Spaghetti allo Scoglio (seafood pasta). The secret is a sauce derived from smashed shrimp heads which are flambéed with Brandy. I tested out my new skills for my parents and all were pleased with the results. We also learned to make a dazzling array of antipasti, presented as a beautiful buffet and then we finished the course with several pasticceria classes where we made nearly a dozen different torts and tarts - each class. The course culminated with a final festa complete with many kisses goodbye, homemade champagne to celebrate, and promises for further meetings.

That brings us up to the changing of the guests. Chad dropped Scott and Anne off at the airport in the morning and I picked up my parents just before midnight the same night. Fortunately for me, they were exhausted the first day, and I could catch up on life’s errands (and the online class that I decided to start at the same time all of our guests started arriving) before resuming my role as tour guide and innkeeper. We had many adventures while they were visiting including kayaking to Punta Sardegna to see the lovely houses of my dad’s new favorite architect, Alberto Ponis, wandering along the castle walls of Castelsardo (and meeting a darling woman weaving baskets in a cobblestone alley), sailing to Isola Spargi’s white sand beaches with Lorenzo, touring the nuraghe of Arzachena, dining at the Italian Officer’s Club on La Maddalena and driving the island loop, exploring the Friday morning market in Palau to taste amaretti (almond cookies) and the many types of local Pecorino cheeses and sausages, and enjoying lazy afternoons on the beach in the sun.

Then, all too soon, we were off to Rome where we walked until we dropped. The first afternoon, I had imagined that we would get to our hotel and take it easy in the afternoon and then head out in the evening for a drink and dinner, but my parents were eager to get out and see Rome upon our arrival. So, we pulled out the map and planned an afternoon walk that took us first to the Spanish Steps, which were filled with throngs of people nestled amongst pink azaleas left over, we later learned, from the annual spring fashion show. We stopped for a rest at a café just off the piazza and enjoyed some birra and antipasti while soaking in the mood of the crowds and then headed to the Pantheon. Unfortunately, we arrived just after it had closed and would have to return another day. By then, it was time for dinner, for which I had made a reservation at Trattoria der Pallaro near the Campo Fiori. It was a fantastic place bustling with busy waiters all under the orders of Paola Fasi, the turbaned proprietress whom I had read about in my guidebook. It was a good thing we’d made a reservation, as we arrived with a crowd of other hungry people, all of whom were turned away by an unsympathetic Paola. Immediately after we were seated, wonderful antipasti appeared including savory lentils and potato croquettes followed by homemade pasta, thinly sliced beef served with fennel, hearty potato chips and delightful homemade bread. The finale was tangerine juice served in thimble-sized glasses with a slice of custard tart, which, after asking for forks, we were instructed to eat with our hands. When I asked if we could order café, I was told that the menu was finished and that if we wanted anything more, we’d have to start over again from the beginning of the menu. As I had read, “You’ll eat what they serve you.” To digest our tasty dinner, we walked home via the Trevi Fountain, which was magically lit up in the moist evening air and surrounded by people throwing wished-upon coins into its waters. Mom and dad did this nearly 40 years ago and made new wishes on this trip. After a lot of walking for having arrived at nearly 4pm, we returned to the hotel for a night of sound sleep.

The next morning, Chad and I started off with a visit to the Cappucin Crypts where we saw the bones of some 4,000 monks (including a few whole skeletons complete with monks garb and skin) arranged in elaborate displays in a church basement. It was elegantly done, if that can be said of arrangements of bones, and certainly unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Unfortunately, you are not allowed to take pictures, so we bought a few postcards. We met up with my parents back at the hotel and struck out for the Colosseum, taking in a bit of the parade celebrating Rome’s birthday along the way. My favorite were the marching Centurions. Processing with the teeming hordes around the circular levels of the Colosseum, we imagined some 50,000 Romans cheering on the Gladiators in their bloody battles.

From there, Chad and I picked up picnic provisions and met my parents in a shady spot atop Pallatine Hill where we took in views of the house of Romulus, ruins of the palaces of Emperors past, and the forum below. After lunch, we strolled through the forum, marveling at the Vestile Virgins, the Temple of Caesar, where he was cremated and where Marc Antony uttered the famous line, “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears . . .,” the curia (senate house) where Caesar was killed, and the Temple of Saturn, constructed circa 500 B.C. the oldest structure in the forum. In the late afternoon warm sun, fueled by the prospect of gelato, we climbed the steps out of the forum up to Michaelangelo’s Piazza Campidoglio, with a view of the Monument Vittorio Emmanuele, marking the unification of Italy under the Sardegnan! King Victorio Emmanuele, from the top of the descending steps. After the anticipated gelato, we dragged back to the hotel to say goodbye to Chad, who had to take the train to Naples for a course for work, and agreed to ripose until dinner. The concierge at our hotel recommended a small place nearby called Trattoria Innoscenzi, off Piazza Barberini, and instructed us to ask for Beppe and tell him that Luigi sent us. We did and were rewarded with a wonderful meal in the garden patio hidden off the street - seafood antipasti and champagne shrimp, followed by a desert of limoncello torta and panna cotta accompanied by Sambuca and limoncello (and strangely, Jagermeister, which the waitress called amaro). At nearly 11pm, having arrived at 8pm, we finally finished up.

On our final day in Rome, we explored a few churches near the Pantheon, admiring the gold of Chiesa Gesu and the Cavaggio paintings in the Chiesa San Luigi dei Francesi before heading up the river to see a modern architectural museum constructed of a glass box built around a triumphal arch. We walked back along the Fiume Tevere to Piazza Navona for lunch, where we listened to a young boy playing accordion and crooning “O sole mio,” and then on to the Pantheon for a short visit before a long trek across the city to get back to our hotel so that I could race off to the train station to join Chad in Naples. There was just enough time to squeeze in a tear-filled goodbye before leaving and one last gelato with dad at the Stazione.

Next stop, Naples. The train ride out of Rome provided beautiful views of the Lazian countryside as well as a well-preserved aqueduct. The first night in Naples, after a hair-raising drive through the city with Chad at the wheel, we met a crew of people at an agriturismo called Abraxas which was perched over the Lago Aveno, the fabled entrance to Dante’s Hades, which we saw in the misty dusk. The food was never-ending and delicious and sometime around midnight the group decided to forgo desert and home home – basta!

Tuesday, a friend of ours volunteered to play tour guide and take me and another woman to Sorrento, down the coast. The drive was beautiful with steep cliffs dropping off into glittering waters below and the town was full of narrow, winding streets with shops selling loads of lemon products from pottery to soaps to lemon chocolates and, of course, limoncello. We saw the giant local lemons at several of the produce stands, which were more the size of melons than lemons, before stopping at a café for some famous Neapolitan Pizza Margherita – simple, but tasty. This was followed by refreshing graniti limoni (lemon ices) as we made our way back towards the car. After an afternoon’s rest, Chad and I enjoyed a beverage on the roof of our hotel overlooking the bay and the diffuse waning light and colors over the jumble of crowded apartment buildings and rooftop antennae. One of the drawbacks of such a thriving city is the problem of pollution and trash, which is ubiquitous. It makes me appreciate Sardegna, though its landscape is often not the cleanest either. Afterwards, we found a nice place around the corner for dinner where they served us complimentary limoncello for desert (they brought the whole bottle!).

The next morning, there was an organized trip to Vesuvius for everyone at the course. As it was an Italian holiday, fighting the traffic and crowds to get to the start of the trail was a bit of a challenge. On the mountain, the scenery was lunar-like and some of the craters even had steaming vents. The feel of it was enhanced by the low clouds rolling across the crater ruins, though the locals apologized for the cloudy weather obscuring the otherwise spectacular view of the Bay of Naples. To complete our volcanic tour, we spent the afternoon in Herculaneum where we wandered the 2,000 year old streets of the amazingly well-preserved town. Even the paintings on the walls were visible in some houses and the mosaic floors were in near-perfect condition. Walking around the old port area, it was eery to think of all the people who had tried to escape to the coast here, only to be trapped by the hot, falling ash. The city was apparently buried in ash to an average of 16 meters! While wandering, we heard the sounds of thunder and decided to call it a day and head back for some relaxing at the spa at our hotel. Apparently, the area around Pozzuoli and Lucrino, where we were staying, was once known for its thermal pools and people came to this area to benefit from their healthful effects. Now, we enjoyed the less natural, but not less luxurious, facilities at our hotel. On our last evening in Naples, we had dinner with friends who live there and enjoyed their view out over the water while enjoying good company.

I had to fly out the next day, but had the morning to explore a bit more before leaving. Another woman at the conference and I took the train into Pozzuoli to see the Roman sites there including the Tempio Serapis, a 1st century A.D. marketplace, the Terme di Nettuno, and Ampiteatrum Flavium, where we were able to go into the area underground where they kept the exotic beasts brought in on ships from Africa for the specatcoli held in this theater – the 3rd largest of its kind in Italy. While wandering through the underground caverns we, once again, heard the rumbling of thunder overhead and had to race through increasingly heavy rain to the train station. This was all made more challenging by the fact that Meghan is 4 months pregnant! We made it safely to the train and back to a little restaurant near our hotel for more Neopolitan pizza before I had to take off for the airport in order to attend my final cooking class.

That mostly brings us up to the present – over a month of adventures with many details sadly left out as I struggled to remember all the wonderful things we’ve experienced and to get it all down before leaving for Turkey in a couple of days for our island sailing adventure. This is such an amazing time for us and we have loved being able to both to travel and to share the place where we now live with our first guests. The hardest part is to try to capture it all.

20 Marzo 2007

Today is another fiercely windy day here. We even had hail earlier this morning. We have a new salt crust on the windows from the Northwest Maestrale whipping up the seas and sending them in the direction of our house. This is all a bit of a shock to the system as this weekend truly felt like summer with temperatures reaching nearly 20°C (70 F) and unusually tranquil seas. Unfortunately, we spent much of this weekend cleaning up after a minor household disaster in the wee hours of the night on Friday. We awoke to the sound of dripping only to discover that it was coming from the ceiling between our bedroom and the hallway. Because we had a friend staying for the night, I quietly snuck upstairs to see if the faucet had been left on or the toilet had overflowed and was met with at least an inch of standing water covering the floor. Somehow, our friend managed to sleep through all of this until I rudely awakened her with a light to further inspect the damage. I‘m not sure what the logic behind it was, but someone decided to put the hot water heater upstairs so that should it spring a leak, as it definitely had, it would drip down through the walls into the lower floor of the house. Fortunately, it is positioned above the bathroom and hallway, both of which have tile floors. A frantic call to the guardiano (caretaker) of our condominium complex, Pietro, got him up in the middle of the night to turn off the water to the heater. As I had already given him a bottle of our first batch of homemade Mirto, I would have to think of another treat to give him to say thank you. The recipe for the Mirto came from his mother and he very kindly wrote it down for me when he saw my friend, Ilenia, and me picking the myrtle berries one afternoon in front of our house. After Pietro shut off the water, we spent the next hour or two sopping up water with old towels and running with them to the window to squeeze them out over the yard below. The next day, I felt the effects of the repeated wringing of towels when I attempted to knead dough to make Irish soda bread for St. Patrick’s Day.

This was the other complicating factor: on Friday we had decided to have a St. Patrick’s Day party at our house Saturday night. I bought a piece of beef brisket (which I learned is called "costate di manzo") at the Macelleria and corned my first beef over the next day or so. Although I had read that you are supposed to corn beef for at least 5-7 days, we decided to experiment in order to have it ready by St. Patrick’s Day. After the hot water incident, we were concerned that we wouldn’t have water for our party the next night. We called our landlord first thing in the morning to let him know what had happened to our scalda bagno (hot water heater). We hoped that maybe someone would be out to look at it in the next few days, thinking that Monday would be most likely, as tomorrow would be Sunday, the day of riposo. Much to our surprise, in the middle of making breakfast, a car showed up with a man from the appliance store down the street. After taking a look at the model of our heater, he said he would be back in 20 minutes with a new one. Sure enough, by 10am we had a new, fully installed, functional hot water heater. So much for the Italian slow pace of work. We spent much of the day afterwards mopping and hanging out the soaked towels to dry. We were lucky to have a dry, sunny day for this. We were able to take a brief afternoon break to enjoy the summery weather and to partake of a cocktail down on the rocks – a new favorite concoction of bitters and white wine garnished with an orange slice. And, at 7:15pm, a crew of nearly 15 people showed up all at once ready for a St. Patrick’s Day feast. Much corned beef, cabbage, potatoes, soda bread, Irish stew and bread pudding later (and Guinness and Irish coffee too), we collapsed into a deep sleep for the night.

We had anticipated this weekend being a nice relaxing weekend at home after our bike trip down the coast last weekend. A colleague of Chad’s from San Diego, who is a biker, was in town and was eager to do a little touring around Sardegna. So, Saturday morning we unearthed our neglected gear packed up the bikes to drive to Alghero, a coastal town about 2 hours south of here that is known for its Catalan influence, local red coral jewelry, and wonderful seafood. We had heard great things about the coastal road between Alghero and Bosa, a town about 40 km south: a winding road with no houses, little traffic, and dramatic views of the coast and Capo Caccia, the limestone headland bearing the famous Grotta di Nettuno cave at the north end of Alghero. We had also seen the wind predictions for the weekend and had chosen to ignore them and go anyway given our friend’s short stay in Sardegna. The first challenge of the day was in finding that the one place listed for lunch along the route in our guide book, was closed. So, we would have to subsist on our breakfast for the next 30 km or so. The views were indeed beautiful and during the first part of the day the wind was stiff, but bearable. However, later in the day, there came a point when we turned around a bend, our bikes came to a dead stop, and we were forced to walk until we were in the lee of it. By Chad’s odometer, we still had about 15 km left until we reached Bosa. The North winds were getting funneled through each valley along the way so that ,with every downhill, came a disappointing deceleration. The upside to this was that we had a tail wind for most of the ascents. In any case, it was a tough ride which elicited some foul words from me and which were, fortunately, lost amongst the howls of the wind. Finally, in late afternoon, we arrived in Bosa, exhausted and famished. I went into a bar to use the restroom and returned having bought pastries for the crew, which we rapidly devoured and then bought another round. Following a hot shower, a change into non-spandex clothes, and a beer and more snacks procured by Chad from a nearby shop, we sank into the little couch in our room to vegetate in front of Italian TV for a moment before rallying the energy to get out and see Bosa on our one night there. Bosa is a beautiful little city with medieval winding streets below an imposing castle atop the hill and set along the Fiume Temo, the only navigable river in Sardegna, at one time the site of a thriving Roman settlement. Now, the river holds many colorful fishing boats and is lined with old tanneries from the pre-WWII era. Our find of the evening was a small wine shop on a cobblestone street. We had read about Bosa’s sweet Malvasia wine and wanted to try it. The proprietor of the shop was incredibly friendly and had a particular fondness for Americans. He invited us back in the morning to have a tasting before heading off on our bikes. Perhaps the evening would have been better for drinking wine, but we didn’t question his offer and promised to return in the morning.

One of the real pleasures of bike touring is the enhanced enjoyment of simple things like good food, a hot shower, and a bed to sleep in. While I think that our dinner that night at the hotel’s restaurant would have been delicious anytime, it was particularly amazing following our day’s adventure and lack of lunch. We had homemade pasta with porcini mushroom sauce and bottarga, dried mullet roe, which is a common Sardegnan addition to dishes, and Chad had the best steak we’ve had in Sardegna. It was tender and juicy in the center unlike the shoe-leather imposters we have become accustomed to here. This was all followed by seadas, the traditional Sardegnan desert of pastry filled with cheese which is then fried and topped with wild honey. We had intentions of a post dinner walk, but, instead, happily retired early to our rooms, saying prayers against the winds before going to bed.

The next morning seemed less windy, but was quite cool at the start. We headed to the wine shop in town, as promised, only to find the doors locked. But, when we turned the corner, Mario, the proprietor, was standing outside having a café with friends. Back at his shop, after pouring us a bit of the sweet Malvasia wine to warm us for the ride, he insisted on giving us a bottle to take home and would not take any money for it. While not terribly excited about lugging a bottle of wine on my bike, there was no way to refuse. The ride back was beautiful and followed an interior road up a very long climb leading out of Bosa. Fortunately, we got this over with in the early part of the day and then had only one other short climb followed by a very long descent. While yesterday we appreciated the uphills for the tailwind, today we appreciated them for their warming effects as the temperature had become quite chilly. Along the way, we saw one of the famed griffon-vultures unique to this area with a nearly 2-meter wing span which it was using to soar over the hills. We had a refueling stop at a cozy bar in Villanova Monteleone which served hot paninis and cookies and found it hard to motivate to go back outside, anticipating a chilling 12 km descent into Alghero. Pushing on for the final stretch, we pulled into Alghero quite happy to see the little blue Jetta awaiting us in the parking lot by the port. One small discovery we have made while traveling overseas is that there are always clean, free restrooms to be found at McDonalds. We spotted one just up the street from our car, which provided the perfect spot for changing out of bike gear, having a rare fountain Coke, and washing up before exploring town. We walked around a bit, following the Bastione, the city’s complex of seawalls and watchtowers constructed to defend the city, and ducking into churches here and there, mostly to retreat from the chilly wind. Once finally back home, we enjoyed loads of take-out pizza and a movie from the comfort of our couch with the heater nearby. Another Sardegnan adventure completed.

Now, we anticipate the end of March: the month of perpetual climatic indecision, and the arrival of many guests in April. This month, I am also hoping to begin a cooking class at a local Agriturismo (a rural restaurant that serves homemade products such as wild boar sausage and sheep’s milk Pecorino cheese) and to begin teaching English at the Italian Officer’s School – two fine opportunities to learn more about Italian cuisine and language.

28 Febbraio 2007

Today is the last day of the month of February and it is blowing its way out with fury. The sky is patchy blue with low clouds over Corsica and the sea is wind-whipped and full of white-caps. The last few days have been molto ventoso (very windy), reminding me of the spring winds in New England marking the change in seasons. In Maine, the incoming warm air meets the still-cool seas, causing great tempests. Here, the water is still warm enough to go for a swim, and the sun strong enough to get a sunburn. Brightly colored flowers have started to emerge among the lichen-covered rocks – purple wild crocus, tiny red pin cushion plants, and tall yellow Acetosella. The emergence of the sun today was unexpected, as the morning began with spotty showers, but ended with a beautiful rainbow right outside our window after I returned from my morning walk with Manny.

This weekend marked the end of Carnevale here. Though Lent technically already began last Wednesday, there was still quite a bit of revelry through the weekend including a sfilata (a parade) through the streets of Palau, in which Chad and I both participated – Chad as a soldier from Toy Story (tough costume to dig up) and me as Sebastian, the lobster, from the Little Mermaid, as the American float had a Disney theme. The parade covered no more than 8 blocks, but took over four hours to cover. Along the way, each float served wine and beer and the American float served hot dogs and hamburgers as well, making it the most popular as the sun began to set and the hunger of the masses grew. There was plenty of loud music, loads of confetti, which we are still finding in our house, and, of course, plenty of imbibing as well.

The final event of Carnevale was the Pentolaccia, which took place on Sunday under a grand tent at the port in Palau. I am still not sure of the significance of Pentolaccia, but it involves adults dressed in marvelous costumes complete with silver and gold masks, colorful capes, and elaborate headdresses who all surround a piñata. Children from town try to break the piñata with a giant stick, which was more difficult than I would have imagined. Meanwhile, they played some sort of dirge "a la Metallica" in the background, which added to the odd pagan feel of the whole affair. The evening was capped off with fuochi artificiali (fireworks) over the port, which we missed as we had retreated home in the growing winds and coming rain to a fire in our fireplace.

Under this same tent, a few weeks ago, we enjoyed a wonderful Sardegnan dinner, another of the Carnevale events. Though I had just come down with a cold and it was a grey, chilly evening, we summoned the energy to head to town for what was advertised as a salsiccia alla griglia (grilled sausage) dinner. We were among the first people there and were seated by the hostess at one of the many long tables set up for the evening around a small stage that would be for dancing later. Before long, we were joined by a very nice woman who happened to speak a bit of English. By the end of the evening, she had introduced us to all of her friends, and we had been invited to go diving over the summer by a man who works in a local dive shop, to go salsa dancing in Porto Cervo by another man from the Dominican Republic, but who lives in Palau, and to see traditional Sardegnan dancing in a small coastal village by a man who was about 5 feet tall and who winked at me from the other end of the table as we said our goodbyes. It was quite an experience filled with wonderful food and new friends and capped off by the traditional and delicious Carnevale fritelle (fried dough).

We missed Martedi Grasso in Palau, or Fat Tuesday as New Orleanians know it, because we were en route back from a ski trip to Innsbruck, Austria. To get there, we took the ferry from Sardegna to Livorno, on the mainland, and then drove from there up through Tyrol and into Austria. The mountains were beautiful and it was a treat to see snow, as our only glimpses of it lately have been atop distant Corsica from our window on very clear days. After navigating signs in German, which was a challenge, we arrived in Innsbruck late in the afternoon and spent the evening wandering through the charming pedestrian district of town past the famous Goldenes Dachl, near which we found a cozy shop full of homemade schnapps of all sorts with a proprietor who allowed us to sample a few varieties. For dinner that night, we headed to what was to become our favorite happy-hour spot, Thereisenbrau, for fondue, Bavarian pretzels and home-brewed beer.

The next day was gorgeous with bright sun shining on the towering Alps above surrounded by blue skies. We walked into downtown Innsbruck for a visit to the Hofburg Palace, once home to Emperor Maximilian I, which was full of period furniture and halls full of larger-than-life portraits of members of the royal family, many of whom possessed the unfortunate Hapsburgian nose. More impressive were the Hofkirche, which contained a dozen or so very detailed bronze statues also of royalty, all surrounding the tomb of Maximilian, and the Dom zu St. Jakob, with its guilded altar, ornate pulpit, and gleaming silver organ beneath the colorfully painted dome. Somewhere amidst our roamings, we took a break for lunch at a small Thai restaurant, which may seem odd in the land of beer and schnitzel, but it was a rare opportunity coming from Sardegna, the land of only pizza and pasta. We had dinner that night back at our hotel, the Neue Post, which we learned to pronounce “noya post,” with a friend from La Maddalena, her sister and crew.

Finally, the next day, we headed off to the slopes. We picked up the ski bus in front of our hotel and meandered up to the mountain through a few small villages and then a long windy road that led up and up until we could finally see the trails of Axamer-Lizum, our destination. I had a few butterflies in my stomach in anticipation of attempting to get down those trails - preferably on two skis. But, all went well on the first day and the zippy skiers graciously waiting and cheered on the pokier ones in the bunch. One of the highlights of the day was sitting in the sun at the Hoadlhaus atop the mountain during our lunch break. The views from the top were amazing and the sun felt magnificent. We sampled hearty skiers’ fare from streudels to knodels to various wursts and spaetzels, and good Austrian beer. The Radler, a mix of Sprite and beer, became a refreshing favorite. A handful of runs in the afternoon brought us to the end of the day when we had to catch the last bus back to the hotel. We quickly decided that, while the bus may take a bit longer than driving one’s self up the mountain, it was well worth it for the relaxing ride home, which usually included a steaming cup of gluwein (hot wine spiced with cloves and orange) and a nap. We were also happy to have dinner at our hotel included in our ski package so that we could shortly thereafter drag our tired bodies upstairs for a long sleep.

Days two and three brought more sunshine and increased confidence and speed on the slopes with only a few personal yard sales for everyone’s entertainment. Somehow, following one of these, one of my skis ended up completely vertical, pointing up out of the snow far above where I ended up. I also managed to have a small collision with a snowboarder after which, thinking it was probably my fault, I yelled a long confusing series of, “Sorry, scusa, mi dispiace,” and a garbled attempt at “Entschuldigung,” German for "excuse me". Apparently none of these worked, as his friend commenced yelling at me in French. I figured I had done better than most on the mountain, as it seemed to be the usual custom to knock someone down and continue on with your skiing or, as we discovered in the lines for the ski lift, to use your elbow and ski poles to wedge your way into position, often tipping over small children or those less than completely comfortable wearing skis on their feet.

Our last day in Innsbruck, we enjoyed one last lovely breakfast at the Neue Post, after which we felt compelled to buy some Muesli to bring home with us, and then we went for a final walk through downtown before starting the long drive back. Given a tip from the caretaker at our condiminium, Pietro, we decided to drive along Lago di Garda, which is a beautiful narrow lake surrounded by steep cliffs and small summer resort towns. When we stopped in the town of Nagos to get gas, we were invited to the Martedi Grasso celebrations in the piazza for a free lunch. Several men stirred giant pots of pasta beneath streamers criss-crossing the piazza where people were gathered for the festivities, and we joined them to await a delicious bowl of Penne alla Bolognese. Then, we headed on towards Verona, where we planned to make a short visit. In Verona, we saw the famous colosseum (the second biggest in the world) where they have operas in the summer, for which we hope to return, and also the Casa di Julietta with its wall full of lovers notes stuck up with bubble gum. Then, we were off for the long stretch back to Livorno to catch the ferry home. Once there, we happily checked into our tiny little cabin and hardly noticed how much less comfortable our bunk was than the nice fluffy bed at the Neue Post. An announcement over the ship radio very early in the morning followed by many follow-up announcements and knocks on all the doors, got us up and out of bed for our arrival back home. Sardegna, as always, was beautiful to come home to, with pink morning clouds streaked across the rugged rocky hills.

That brings us up to the present. All else is well here: Chad continues to enjoy his work but not to work too much. I am nearing the end of teaching my second semester of Biology and will then take a break from teaching during the next semester as we anticipate the arrival of many guests and also a trip to Turkey in May. And, Manny is living la dolce vita del cane - chasing birds on the beach and lazing in the sunshine in the yard.

Baci,
S, C & M

23 Gennaio

We have begun the Carnevale season here, which culminates in many parades and festivals on Fat Tuesday, known here as Shrove Tuesday, marking the beginning of Lent. Last week, I went for a drive to the small town of Mamoiada, a couple hours south of here in the province of Nuoro, with a friend and her little girl, to see the Festa di Sant’Antonio. Sant’Antonio apparently stole fire from hell and brought it to earth, which means that there are a large number of bonfires lit around the town during the Festa. More interesting, though, are the characters that tour from bonfire to bonfire in a strange pre-springtime ritual. Each year, men dress up as Mamuthones, wearing costumes of shaggy black sheepskins, black wooden masks and, most impressively, about 30 kg (70 lbs) of campanacci, or cowbells. They are supposed to embody all of the things that primitive humans feared and are rounded up, lassoed and chased out of town by the Issokadores, men dressed up as gendarmes wearing red brass-buttoned jackets, tricorner hats and white wooden masks. All around the town, there are bonfires set by digging up the entire stump of a tree and setting it ablaze. They were impressive. The Mamuthones and Issokadores parade from one bonfire to the next, stopping at each one to do a rhythmic dance where the Mamuthones stamp their feet, rattling their many pounds of bells, the sounds of which can be heard throughout the town. The Issakodores, rather than lasso the Mamuthones, opted to instead lasso the women in the crowd. I was lucky enough to get lassoed by a very young Issakador, who was quite proud of his accomplishment. I took his photo while in the lasso. At the site of each fire there is a small canvas tent set up for people to gather in and women from the town come out of these tents with baskets of homemade cookies of all types – almond, lemon, and dried fruits – and pass them around the crowd. The men come with jugs of wine, which they freely pour for the onlookers. Once all the stamping and lassoing is done, the whole crowd follows the performers on to the next bonfire. Though the town is not big, because the bells are so heavy and there are many bonfires, there are two troupes of performers needed to cover all of the sites. It was a festive and uniquely Sardegnan event.

The drive to Mamoiada took us through beautiful mountains, requiring many tunnels along the road, into the Barbagia, an area known for trekking. Intrigued by the scenery, I convinced Chad to return there over the weekend in an attempt to follow a hike outlined in our Lonely Planet guide, which would apparently take us through the lush green Valle di Lanaittu along the Sa Oche River to the Grotta Sa Oche (Cave of the Voice) named for the gurgling water flowing under it, on to a site of nearly 150 nuraghe, and then to the town of Tiscali, a 2nd century BC mountainside hideout for Sardegnans following the arrival of the Romans. This all sounded intriguing and we carefully followed the directions, looking for the described forks in the road and signs pointing us in the right direction. We did find a fork at one point and a sign for the nuraghe, but it was unfortunately on the ground among a pile of rocks and we weren’t sure which way the arrow was meant to point. We pushed on, as the scenery was beautiful – steep granite cliffs towering above us on either side of the valley. The serenity was broken, however, by the frequent shotgun fire of hunters seeking the cinghiale (wild pigs) that live around here. Needless to say, we kept Manny on a tight leash. We wound up climbing a steep track up the mountainside until the path ended at an abandoned-looking house and stable. Peeking inside the gate, I saw a lone older man sitting silently in the shade and asked him the way to the nuraghe, only to find that we’d chosen the wrong fork in the road. At this point, we were pretty tired, took a break for lunch, and headed back to the car, the mysterious sites having eluded us, but the scenery making it certainly worth while.

All of this exploring has been particularly enjoyable because of the very warm winter we are having, or so we are told. Over the weekend, to take advantuage of the warm winter, we joined in a Polar Bear Plunge organized by the Navy base. We hardly felt like we’d earned the hot chocolate we consumed afterwards. Although, after a sunny, calm start to the day, the clouds rolled in and the wind picked up just before we were scheduled to plunge, so it felt a bit more legitimate. After several weeks of having time to catch up with friends and family, go adventuring around here, and enjoy many café dates with new Italian friends in order to practice my language skills, I am now getting ready to start the next term of Biology.

4 Gennaio 2007

I am finally getting around to putting this together after a long hiatus in travel-logging. I believe the last episode was in October just before I started teaching Biology on the base for the University of Maryland, which would explain the lack of reporting since.

October was a beautiful, warm month here during which we went for many kayak trips near our house, finding tucked away coves that surprisingly were empty and perfect for a rest and a swim, and hiking trips both close by and within a day’s drive or so on Sardegna. One of our hiking trips was a sort of pilgrimage to several Nuraghic sites around the village of Arzachena. These are bronze-age tombs and watch towers that are built of large rocks in odd formations. Some of them are well marked and include information on when they were built (over 4000 years ago!) and the significance of the structure and some you see unmarked along the side of the road. On adventures further from home, we took a day trip to Bonafaccio, Corsica with a few friends from here, enjoying a beautiful ferry ride on the way over and clear views of the layered limestone rocky cliffs that plunge down into the sea from the walled city above. We can see these on a clear day from our porch, but seeing them up close was quite dramatic. Excited by the prospect of some French food, the focus of the day was lunch, which lasted a bit longer than we’d anticipated. It was nearly 4 hours from start to finish not because we were delighting over the much-sought-after food, but because the service was geologically slow. But, the view from the restaurant made it mostly worthwhile.

Later in the month, I started teaching a quite large and varied class of Navy personnel and dependents – 23 students ranging in age from 20-45 or so. It was quite an experience and seemed a bit like a whirlwind now that I look back at it. The students all worked very hard and everyone passed, though there were a few close calls. The lab was the most fun, as we took field trips nearly every session – one to the water treatment plant on Santo Stefano, one to Caprera for a walk with a guide from the Parco Nazionale dell' Archipelago di La Maddalena, and one to the Centro Ricerca Delfines to see the dolphin research they do here. It was a great way to connect with local organizations and for me to meet fellow nature nerds.

In November, the evenings started to cool down a bit, though the days were still warm enough for many afternoon plunges. On these cool nights, we discovered that our condo is definitely not designed for the winter – no central heating and chilly tile floors throughout. This required a prompt field trip to a woodlot to supply our fire place and the procuring of a bombola, a propane heater, from friends of ours who had a spare. On the chilly nights, we sit in front of the fireplace or bombola and drink lots of tea with our Manny-heater curled up with us (though he is a bit of a bombola hog). I forgot to mention that firewood is a precious commodity here, as there aren’t too many trees, so we were lucky enough to get a tip from a friend on where to go without going completely broke.

As my biology class required several Saturday labs, some of our weekend trips were curtailed, though the field trip portions of the labs were adventures in themselves. The big trip of November was to Spain and Portugal for Thanksgiving week. We started out by visiting friends of ours from the Navy in San Diego who are now stationed in Rota, Spain. They pointed us in the direction of good day trips including one to Gibraltar, where we took the cable car to the top of the rock (where a Barbary ape hopped on Chad’s back and pulled my sweater out of his backpack) and ate Moroccan food for lunch while watching cars drive by on the left side of the road past English-style pubs. If we had had more time there, we would have considered taking the ferry to Africa, just across the straits. We spent another day in one of the Pueblo Blancos (white villages) called Arcos de la Frontera – a picturesque town with winding streets of white stucco buildings adorned with flower pots of bright geraniums above cobblestone pavement. And, we had to go sherry tasting in Jerez (the namesake of "sherry"), touring the Tio Pepe winery and doing a sadly limited tasting afterwards. The next day, we left for Portugal, spending two days in Lisbon walking the streets and looking at the beautiful tiled facades of the old buildings, eating wonderful seafood including fried sardines and fish stew, visiting an 11th century castle atop the city, and listening to fado, the local music of passionate, melodic singing with guitar accompaniment. From there, we drove out of the city to Estremos, a small town with yet another castle – this one was our hotel. We arrived on a blustery day of howling winds and rain and took refuge inside the castle while we watched the storm. We climbed the castle tower and poked our heads outside only to be rewarded with vertical hair, causing us to retreat to the large living room to play games and drink the local Port while sitting in overstuffed, plush chairs. The meals there were fantastic – more seafood, much to my delight, and a delicious breakfast spread, both of which were in the grand dining room. In the morning, we went to the market in Estremos where we felt like brightly colored giants next to the little old women dressed in traditional black, hooded dresses. We bought some wonderful cheese for the roadtrip back and pottery for Christmas presents, though we were tempted by the hanging pigeons and rabbits that people were purchasing for supper. We thought our adventures were done, but we had quite an experience on our way back to Spain when we stopped at what looked like a dark little bar to get a bite to eat. We still aren’t quite sure how it happened, but soon we were drinking wine that one of the locals had bought us and sampling little roasted pigs (with the heads still on). A plate of cheese and bread followed as well as more roasted meats, followed by some sort of candied fruit, more wine, and then something that tasted a bit like grappa. As we were walking out the door, we were chased down by our new friends and spoon fed a sort of roasted nut mixture, one by one, despite our protests of being too full. And, once we were all in the car and ready to leave, a young boy from the bar ran out with earthenware pitchers for us that bore the name of the town. Needless to say, we got a bit behind schedule and were happy to arrive in Jerez just barely in time to catch our flight home.

On to December – the month of parties. Living in Sardegna where there isn’t too much going on in the winter, the thing to do is to have parties. It started off with the Navy’s Christmas party, which was followed by a annual 12 Bars of Christmas pub crawl through La Maddalena (limited by the fact that there are only 12 bars to crawl to). Having survived that, we decided to host our own Christmas party here, mostly as an excuse to make fish chowder and wassail and have a Yankee swap. It was an appropriately chilly night for a fire in the fireplace and lots of toasty food and grog. Then, Christmas Eve brought another party, an all day festival of eating with friends on La Maddalena, lasting from 1pm until at least 9pm that night. We started with antipasti of all sorts and mulled wine, followed by a main course of beef roast and Yorkshire pudding, and finally chocolate mouse, pecan pie, and Mirto as our digestivo. This was good preparation for the Christmas day feast that we were invited to attend at our landlord’s house.

It is hard to describe the warmth of the scene at Andrea and Piera's house. We arrived to find nearly twenty of their extended family members all gathered in the taverna of their house, a special room with its own fireplace and kitchen and a very long table for big gatherings. We were introduced to and kissed by everyone there and then thoughtfully seated next to those that spoke a bit of English (though we had brought our dictionary just in case). The table was filled with an array of antipasti delights from insalate di mare, smoked salmon, prosciutto, homemade bread shaped like flowers (this was amazing), tuna and fagioli (white bean) salad, bottarga (fish eggs), grilled zucchini and eggplant, and many more dishes that I can’t remember. This was just the beginning. We weren’t sure how much more was coming and people kept serving us more. Then came Zuppa Gallurese, a wonderful warm baked dish of layered bread, Pecorino cheese, and meat broth. This was meal number two, which was followed by a palate cleanser of fresh fennel. Then came the roast animals – first porcheddu (suckling pig roasted with myrtle branches), capretto (goat), and agnello (lamb). We had to sample all of these as well. This was all accompanied by wine made by Andrea’s son and father. Then, the deserts began – first lemon sorbetto, then warm slices of fresh pineapple with cherries, cannoli made by Piera’s mother and tiramisu made by Andrea’s son’s fiancé. The desserts were accompanied by spumante - also homemade by Andrea’s father, and followed by grappa made by Andrea. We didn't move from our seats for over four hours! We were itching to get back home to open our presents, still sitting under the tree in our window. Although rounds of café started to come out as we were leaving, we said "basta" and made our way home. We came home to delightful gifts from near and far and some representations of gifts from afar that didn’t make it in the mail in time, which we opened in front of the fire, before beginning the series of many phone calls to friends and family to wish them a Merry Christmas.

And now, it is January, and the beginning of a new year. Sadly, this will be our only full year spent in Sardegna. We celebrated Capo d'Anno by serving steaks and lobsters at the base to American sailors and their families. It was a festive event and much merriment was made by all the volunteers. I was particularly excited for the lobster and made sure to sample plenty of it, though it was the spiny kind, not my favorite Maine lobster. We left the festivities there to ostensibly catch the 11pm ferry home to celebrate midnight at home, but the ferry employees were apparently having their own festivities and had decided to take the evening off. Huddled against the wind on the side of the Biglieteria for the ferry with a bottle of champagne and plastic cups, we watched the fireworks around La Maddalena (some right in front of us in the parking lot) and toasted in 2007 before catching the ferry at the stroke of midnight. Thus far, 2007 has brought howling winds, but beautiful clouds and sunsets as well – we even caught a moonset the other morning during the full moon. We look forward to many adventures this year and hope for many visitors as well.

Making Thai Curry in Sardegna

We had lived in Sardegna two months or so when we developed a fierce craving for one of our favorite meals – Thai curry. My husband and I moved here for his job with the Navy on the island of La Maddalena, which is between Sardegna and Corsica. When we first arrived, we happily ate loads of pizza and pasta, the only fare in town, until we finally got the urge for a bit more variety. A few years ago, I came across a recipe for Thai curry paste which used ingredients that could all be found at any decent grocery store, rather than exotic things like galanga and kaffir lime leaves which many recipes called for. A few tablespoons of paste added to some coconut milk served with chicken and vegetables over rice made an easy weeknight meal. The paste could be stored in the refrigerator for several weeks and the remaining ingredients were easy to keep around – canned mushrooms, bamboo shoots and coconut milk, bottled fish sauce, frozen chicken breasts, and rice.

When we found out that we were moving to Italy, we stocked up on the basics needed to make our favorite foreign dishes, including Thai curry, as we weren’t sure what we would be able to find upon arrival. So, we already had coconut milk, fish sauce, canned mushrooms and bamboo shoots, and an assortment of dry spices. In order to make our curry, we started off by heading to the local Macelleria, or butcher shop, to buy some chicken breasts. Upon entering, we were greeted by pigs, chickens and lambs, all hanging from above and all whole. The chickens even had their feathers still on. In the cases below, we spotted pairs of giant pairs of chicken breasts. These were not the wimpy American chicken breasts that we were used to. Two of those were usually perfect for two people, but two of these breasts would be too much. Of course, it would have been far too easy if we had simply needed one piece. I knew how to say, "un pezzo," but we needed to order by weight, which required converting from pounds to kilograms. A kilogram is roughly twice a pound, so it wasn’t too tricky. Following our request for un mezzo (half) kilo, the butcher took one of the pieces and then produced a giant meat cleaver with which he began slicing the breasts into very thin medallions, or scallopini. After many desperate hand gestures, we managed to get the point across that we wanted to breasts entero (whole), and he wrapped up the rest for us with a smile.

The next ingredient that we needed was rice. For this, we went to the Supermercato. Don’t be fooled by the name into thinking this means it is big store; it just means that they have a bit of everything. Inside, we found ourselves staring at many rows of different colored boxes and all of them contained rice: riso integrale, classico, originale, and arborio. I recognized arborio rice as the type used to make risotto, but had no idea which of the others would be basic, plain white rice. Integrale, we thought, might be brown rice, but we couldn’t guess what might be the difference between classico and originale. There were also no cooking directions to be found on any of the boxes, which added to the challenge. We decided to try the riso originale in the red box and hoped for the best.

While there, we also needed a few fresh ingredients for the curry paste aside from the dry spices that we already had. Garlic, or aglio, was readily available, but ginger and cilantro were nowhere to be found. We also managed to find a red pepper, pepperoni rosso, which is not the type you order on a pizza, but the vegetable. Fortunately, from previous travels in Europe, we had already been through that confusion. We had also been through the embarrassment of being scolded by the produce vendor for not using a plastic glove when selecting our fruit. It seems a little odd that the butcher uses his bare hands to handle raw meat, but that you must use gloved hands to touch produce that you are presumably going to take home and wash before consuming. Once you have selected the fruit, God help you if you show up at the register with a pepperoni in an unlabeled bag. Your bag must be labeled with a sticker from the automatic scale in the produce section. If you’re lucky, there is a store clerk assigned to the task of weighing the patrons’ produce. If not, you have to figure out the machine yourself, which requires locating the numbered code for whatever you have put into your bag, typing it into the machine, and then finding the sticker it has just printed out. We got all of that figured out and put our properly-stickered bag in our basket.

On to the next challenge: soy sauce. While we had brought a bottle of soy sauce, we didn’t have quite enough for our recipe. I remembered seeing soy sauce at the local Herboristeria, a sort of health food shop, among other things like wheat noodles, tahini paste, and lemongrass tea, but it was already closed for the day. Expecting to be out of luck, we were pleasantly surprised to find a small section of ethnic foods including a very small bottle of Suzy Wan soy sauce nestled in between a box of Uncle Ben’s wild rice, canned salsa, and a box of Paella, which touted that all the ingredients were included (how they got the seafood in there still puzzles me). The bottle was a bit dusty and, upon turning it over, the sauce appeared to be of a strangely thick consistency; apparently there is not a high turn over of soy sauce at this store. It also costs about 4 euro for 4 ounces, but we proceeded to buy it anyway, happy to have found it at all.

I have forgotten thus far to mention the other major complication to grocery shopping here – riposo. Riposo is a wonderful thing if you are in a position to repose with everyone else, including all of the shopkeepers. Between 1 pm and 4 or 5 pm (or sometimes even 6), things get very quiet. Doors are locked, lights turned off, and metal gates are rolled down over the storefronts. Everyone goes home to have a big home-made lunch with their families and then to take an afternoon nap. Some time in the evening, people start to emerge again for their passegiata, or walk through town. Good luck if you need something during riposo hours, with the exception of a drink. The bars are always open but, although they purport to have food as well drinks, this is not the case at all hours. Riposo also extends to Sundays – some stores close altogether and some have limited morning hours. So, if you want dinner for Sunday night, you’d better decide what you want on Saturday. We think that the Italian restaurateurs are in collusion to get you to eat out on Sundays. Lucky for us, we were shopping for Thai curry on a Saturday morning, so everything was open.
The last stop of the day was to the Navy Exchange store (known as "the NEX"), which we often try to avoid since we live in Palau, a town at the tip of Sardegna, and the NEX is on the island of La Maddalena, and requires a ferry to get to. It is really pretty simple to take the ferry and inexpensive on foot, but to get to the NEX we needed to take the car, which added 5 euro or so to our grocery bill. But, because the NEX is an American store, it is open during riposo, so we could shop there in the afternoon. Once there, we were finally able to find ginger, but still no cilantro. We also happily noticed a supply of fish sauce, coconut milk, bamboo shoots and mushrooms as well, among the assortment of ethnic foods. This was good to know for future re-supplying.

We returned home with all of the supplies and unloaded our precious loot. In the US, making the paste for the curry required putting all the ingredients into our small food processor and hitting the start button. However, our food processor runs on 110V electricity, and Europe runs on 220V. So, all of our appliances have to be run through a transformer. Because we only have one transformer which is usually hooked up to the array of media devices in the living room – TV, DVD player and stereo – using the little food processor requires unplugging everything from the clunky transformer box and lugging it into the kitchen. This was accomplished without too much trouble, thankfully, and the food processor revved to life, producing a fresh batch of curry paste.
Now, we were ready to cook; we just had to brave the stove. Luckily, we weren’t baking anything, so we didn’t have to convert from Fahrenheit to Celsius. We just needed the stovetop, which is gas and is run off a refillable tank kept outside our house. These tanks, called bombolas, run a lot of things around here – dryers (if you’re lucky enough to have one), heaters, stoves, etc, and their gas supply is powerful! When you light the stovetop, you had better stand back because the flames shoot straight up from the burner upon ignition. Then, it is a Zen art to properly adjust the flame level to low heat without turning off the burner completely and having to go through the hair-raising ignition process all over again. You must hold very still and move very slowly with no distractions as you ease the gas down bit by bit. Of course, Thai curry needs to be simmered at very low heat, so we went through this process several times before getting the flame just right.

In the end, the giant Italian chicken breasts, the mystery white rice, and even the Suzy Wan soy sauce all came together to make a delicious curry. It is amazing to think that this meal was one of our staples, an easy last-minute meal, back in The States. We usually had everything on hand or could pick up the ingredients at the closest grocery store on the way home from work. While it was convenient to be able to buy everything at one store without having to learn about different kinds of rice, how to order chicken breasts in kilograms, or how to select and weigh a pepper, we have come to appreciate the challenges of shopping here and the things we have learned in the process. By now, the man at the Macelleria says hello to me, the woman at the fruit stand rounds down to the nearest euro when charging me for my produce, and the Supermercato staff smiles at the lost-looking American who comes in nearly every day to shop. Sometimes convenience comes at the cost of these human connections and I have learned to value the relationships I’ve developed with local vendors here.

Living overseas is a strange balance between learning a new culture and retaining your own. When we first arrived, I looked askance at the people here who always cooked American foods and bragged about recreating "a little America" at home. But, now I have come to respect that way of life and to share in some of its comforts. I began to think about the neighborhoods of Italians, Mexicans, or Chinese in cities all over America and how neat it is to see people holding on to their native culture rather than completely assimilating. It will be interesting to see which things from home we hold on to most closely and which things we let go of more easily as we spend more time here.

All of that said, after all of our adventures, we finally sat down at our familiar dining room table, eating off our familiar plates, listening to American Jazz on our iPod (hooked up again through the transformer), and ate Thai curry while looking out the window at the La Maddalena islands jutting up out of the Mediterranean. We licked our plates clean and remarked that the curry might have tasted just a little bit better for the trouble it took to make, but that we would do it again for a taste of home in Sardegna.