Vitamin D & Free The Ta-Ta's

I love Levanto. 

It is amazing to me how each place in Italy can be more intoxicating than the one before. We have again had a lovely day, which started for me with tea on the patio, checking email while mom showered. I can't tell you how much more convenient it is to have Internet right outside the room... I was actually able to Skype last night. Contact with the outside world is good.

We headed out to wander about town, stopping first in a patisserie to pick out something that looked visually appealing and hoping for the best when it came to taste. Mom gets a croissant with some sort of apricot jam and I end up with a tiny delicious apple pie. I think it had raisins in it, too. Whatever it was -- I am sure it will go straight to my ass. Things that taste that good usually do.

Next we stop in a few little shops, where I use my birthday euros from mom to buy a gorgeous ring. Then she's in heaven after walking into another shop to pay for a postcard, only to realize it's a bead store. I ask if I should come back in a few hours, but apparently, she couldn't hear me over the angels singing.

Amazingly, all this relaxation is making us hungry. That, or the fact that the gal at the bed and breakfast raved so much about the town's focaccia that we can't get it out of our heads. We ask a guy where mom buy stamps to tell us where to get the best, and his reply is independent verification of the place we've already been told -- 7 Oblo. He also gives us a runner up, and naturally, we decide to try both. The second is okay, but 7 Oblo is unbelievable. We have one plain cheese, and one with cheese, tomato and olive. I actually haven't enjoyed focaccia in the States, but Dorothy... we're not in Kansas anymore. This is so damn good. 

Mom wants to see the medieval part of town, so we walk over to where our hostess has indicated on the map she gave us a check in that would be. We run into a wall that looks about as medieval as it gets, spot a path, and start climbing. There are all these narrow little corridors that jut off the main drag to explore. And when say drag, I am referring to the incredibly uneven and rough stone road. It would be a total drag to drive any manner of vehicle on it. It's hard enough to walk on, let alone UP. Mom's lung capacity isn't good on a good day, making this is some sort of medieval torture, I'm sure. Regardless, it is stunning, and the steps we find at the top that finally head down deposit us steps from the beach. Mom rents a chair and umbrella, while I head off to rent a bike. We've been told about these abandoned train tunnels that lead through the next two towns over, and I am  dying to check it out. 

Foiled again. Of course, it's after 12 and everything is locked up tighter than a drum. I will never get used to siesta. I circle back to the beach and pull up a chair. I'm happy to see tops are optional. When in Levanto... 

There are stones leading to the water's edge as there were in Capri, but in so many different colors. I bend down to pick out a few and soon have a handful. It reminds me of being a little kid. In Florida, my grandfather had a huge sand scoop. He would wade in, pulling treasure troves of muck to entertain my brother and I when we were little. He would sift out the sand in the water and pile heaps of ocean floor in front of us. We would squeal to find sand fleas trying to dig their way back to safety, sorting through the wetness to find pretty shells and sharks teeth. I got really good at spotting the sharks teeth, but grandpa would marvel even when we would just hold up a fragment, a dark shard of nothing. This is one of my fondest memories as a child, and maybe why, at the age of thirty-seven, you can still find me squatting by the waves, picking pretty treasures from the surf.

The rocks stop right past the water line, giving way to heavy, soft sand. The  water feels great and it's so clear that even waist-deep I can still see the ridges of the sand formed by water swirling over. I lean back, let my arms and legs go limp, and give the rest of my stress to the sea.

After a few hours, mom heads back to the room while I go to rent that bike. The ride is about 10 miles or so total. The first few tunnels are really dark, then I remember I have my sunglasses on. Even with them tucked into my basket, it's still not very bright, which makes the ride a tiny bit spooky in the long, mostly deserted tunnels. It is musty, damp, and very quiet. All you can hear is the sound of the bike tires connecting to the pavement, and in the open, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below. So exhilarating that I'm sure I am not doing the adventure justice here. I imagine what it would be like to do this with someone else -- a significant other. I'd like to come back here.

I drop the bike off and head back to get mom, but not before stopping off for some crack gelato. I've done it this time, gone and had something I cant resist telling you about. I've mixed pink grapefruit (actually sorbet) and vanilla. It is like an upscale creamsicle. So mother-loving good. Speaking of, she's curled up in bed when I get back.

I stop at a travel agent to buy our train tickets for tomorrow, but hold off at the last minute. I just have a funny feeling that mom and I may be on the same page. How right I am. She has already bought the tickets and had almost the exact same gelato... vanilla and orange. I jump in the shower and we head out to this darling little place called Le 3 Cantine for dinner. We start with Bruchetta Com Fonduta Di Formaggi, or cooked cheese with bruschetta. My eyes roll back in my head and I literally want to kiss the woman that owns the place. What the hell do they put in this stuff? I mean, it's just fricking cheese and bread! 

For dinner, I have Tagliolini Neri Agli Scampi, a.k.a. black tagliatelle pasta with shrimp. The shrimp are served whole and have claws -- I have never seen claws on shrimp before. Frankly, I wasn't sure what the heck to do with the damn thing. The matriarch mermaid, my grandmother, would be eating bits that would make me want to gag a little, sucking every bit of shrimpy goodness from the shells. I'll stick with the tail. Mom even offers me one of her lobster legs, which I decline. I'm just not that in to seeing the entire thing I'm eating on the plate, let alone sucking meat out of it's legs. I know that's graphic, but eeeewww...

Before we fall asleep, mom asks me how many rolls of toilet paper we have used since we've been here. She means the entire time in Italy. I ask why on earth that matters. She replies it would be interesting to know. 

Only to someone with a toilet paper fetish. 

Guess what I'm getting her a big old box of for Christmas?

For The Love Of... Beer

I think every time we come to a new place I fall in love with Italy a little more. Perhaps I am sinking in, more and more, to the relaxation only a month off can afford. Or maybe it is that, in my absence, things at home are going so well. All I can say is molto benne... very good. 

When we arrive in Levanto, it is nearly 4:30 PM. We arrive in the center of town with only the name of the street and no address for A Durmi, the B & B we will be staying at the next few nights. When we first get to the general area we believe it to be, I'm alarmed. Mom has picked this place, and it looks a bit sketchy in the middle of a highly populated area.

I am so wrong... and happy to admit it. 

The place she's picked has the loveliest courtyard, which our room opens onto. There is a small pergola covered with trumpet flowers. Also, a lovely brick oven, and despite our run of luck -- today is baking day. The mother of the girls who run the place, Chiara and Elisa, is making bread. It smells like heaven and I'm trying to figure out how to ask her for a taste that won't make me come off like a crazy person. 

Please, ma'am, my I have some more?

Anyway, we check in and Elisa gives us the most thorough overview of the area that we are left literally stunned. She sells us, completely, despite our desire to see Lucca and Pisa, on sticking around to enjoy the charms of this medieval town. On one hand, we have the Cinque Terre, which promises amazing hiking between five small villages overlooking the ocean. Then there are bike baths through abandoned tunnels that reach beach towns less travelled. 

What. To. Do.

Well, is guess we should start by opening a bottle of white. I sent home about 18 bottles today and needed to select one to enjoy during the next week or so. Melanie from Munich wins again. It's that special bottle that we carry out onto the patio, under the pergola, to join Joy and Burt from Portland, Oregon. 

They are absolutely the love loveliest people we have met on this sojourn. They've just completed a week-long bicycling tour of Tuscany, and have nothing but good things to say about it. I have been watching the cyclists with every bit of envy, and it is nice to hear from some real folks about how the adventure truly is. They are celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary, and sadly, leaving for another part of Italy tomorrow. We talk for over and hour, and I can say quite confidently, that they are just darling. And not only because they know what NPR is, although that goes a long way!

And by the way, the mother of this place comes by with a sample of what she has just pulled out of the oven, and then proceeds to give Joy and I a brief tour of her garden. Oh, thank heaven for the lovely hospitality of the Italian people.

We have made reservations for a place known for seafood, and they do not disappoint... except for a small issue with price. What I order is seven euros, but there is also this small word near the price... "hectogram." Franky, I have no idea what a hectogram is, and when we get the bill, we learn that it is about four times the seven euro listed, as my dish is now 28 euro. Ugh. I ask the woman at the front, and she says this is already easily discounted. Here's the thing... it was amazing. One of the best meals I have ordered in Italy. But -- it was more than I wanted, and more than I planned to spend. I hate this sort of thing. It puts a bad taste I my mouth, which must promptly be alleviated with gelato. 

I choose chocolate fondant and tiramisu. And yes, I am such a tease I won't tell you more... 

I drop mom off at the room and grab my iPad and a few euros to head to the local  watering hole, Gambrinus Pub, where I order a pint of G. Manabrea e Figli from Biella. It's an amber, brewed there since 1846. So delicious. And now... bottle of wine at hotel, half bottle at dinner, I feel maybe it is time for me to call it a night. 

Maybe. 

On the road... Again

Mom is sick now, too. Ugh. Aren't we a pair?

We enjoyed some old French cafe music and a little breakfast with the doors open to the patio. It is another sunny day here. I can't actually believe we have had only one day of rain -- knock on wood. It did get very cold once we got to the higher elevation, from about 95 to 65. We need to layer. If yesterday's market was any indication, the Italians are masters at layering. All of the displays looked incredibly stylish, with tanks and frilly sweaters cinched with fancy belts, the look completed with a scarf and chic bag. 

Mmmmm... being a girl is good.

Being a bee is not. I kind of feel bad for these guys. They won't survive in here and the place will be locked up for several days. Our hostess called yesterday to say that one of her next guests has been hospitalized and they are heading home. THAT would suck. So, the bees need to get themselves back outside. I opened the window and a few of them have flown the coop, but these other guys aren't too bright.

It's to the wine store this morning to pick up a few more bottles and ship our growing liquified grape addiction back home. Did I mention how unbelievably sweet this store is? With the card I mentioned the other day, you walk around this cavernous winos wet dream where stations dedicated to all kinds of wine can be found. There's Brunello, Chianti, and Supertuscan, to name a few. The Supertuscan is my fave. It's the regions only variety where all manner of production is not tightly controlled, giving the winemaker a chance to shine by creating something special. In my opinion, it's the bling of Tuscan wine -- and you know how I feel about bling.

At each station. There are about 20 bottles hooked up to an aeration system. You pop your card in, the buttons light up above each bottle. You make your selection, the card is debited, and the wine dispensed. 

Speaking of dispensers... twice now I've seen condom dispensers on the street. I've also noticed that rather than being hidden in the back of the farmacia, a huge assortment of condoms and lubes are prominently displayed. Either Italians are not as repressed as Americans about sex, or they are getting a LOT of it and this stuff needs to be easy to grab and go. 

We pack up the car and punch in our next destination... Levanto. But should there be a few wineries and olive oil places along the way, we've got nowhere to be at any particular time.

Vacations are a good thing.