Roam Archives - Page 2 of 6

Roam Archives - Page 2 of 6 - Itch.world

A three-minute escape to Italy.

Tuscany, travel, medieval village, Italy, festivals, celebrations, customs, cooking, recipes, living in Italy, moving to Italy, visiting, visit, restaurants, language

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September 5, 2021 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Are some places cursed?

We had to ask ourselves this question about a bucolic, beautiful, tiny island in the Stockholm archipelago, Rödlöga, four hours by ferry from the capital. The reason we’d even asked ourselves this question is because a friend, the inimitable Meg Ray, baker extraordinaire, author, and founder of Miette bakeries in the San Francisco area, loves this island and she’s run a small cafe on it for a few weeks every summer for five years. In a cafe with no running water, indoor plumbing, or electricity she is able to work magic with a generator to power a clunky oven and convert Baltic sea water for kitchen use. She loves this place so much that last summer during the uncertainty of Covid travel restrictions she rode her electric bike from Paris, where she lives half the year, to Stockholm as to not miss a summer at the cafe.

So we had to find out more and planned a trip with a couple of friends to visit and film in June. Even in the planning stages odd things began to happen. One of the crew that our director friend had booked stopped returning phone calls and never surfaced again—a first for all of us with years of production experience. Another crew member pulled out at the last minute; a friend who was going to come found out her Italian visa had expired, and if that wasn’t enough, fell off a rock wall onto a rock staircase and had to go to the hospital for stitches on her face. A friend’s child had a school crisis that almost derailed the June trip, and ultimately we had a health emergency that precluded any travel for John and me.

Despite all of this a brave skeleton crew persevered with the June trip, including Donella, and they had a complete immersion into the Swedish island summer lifestyle. Donella ended up loving it so much that she stayed for the rest of the summer to bake in the cafe with Meg, so in late August we were quite confident that the curse had lifted and it was safe to proceed with a trip. We ignored that one of the chefs had just been thrown off the island, almost literally, for outhouse misuse—”You and your stuff will be on the 4:30 ferry or all with be thrown into the sea.” And that Balthazar, the commercial oven, broke down and needed a hard-to-get part, leaving the crew to bake in the few private ovens around the island. And that a staff member had a mental health crisis and needed to leave the island.

But still believing in rationality over curses John and I landed in Stockholm, a city of water, bridges, islands, inlets, ferries, and boats. We checked into the lovely Hotel Lyd ma r, directly across the street from the ferry to Rödlöga. The next morning we boarded the Sjogull, or Seagull, which was the cutest ferry I’ve ever been on, complete with potted plants on the tables. Islands unfolded as far as the eye can see, reflected in the calm Baltic, with larger and more formal Swedish summer homes giving way to smaller cabins the further we got from Stockholm. Two colors dominated, the now-protected shade of Swedish red, which originally was a stain created from the remnants of iron mining, and a golden shade of yellow, which was a color used by the wealthier families who had gold mines and could use the runoff as a paint stain. Common to all were the small, individually-built sauna buildings located to make the jump into the cold Baltic a short step away from the sauna—tiny, doll-house like echoes of the larger houses they were paired with. Here the Baltic is so far inland and distant from the ocean that it’s half salt and half fresh water and there are no tides, so buildings are only a foot or so above water level, making for an intimate relationship between the buildings and the sea.

The archipelago numbers somewhere around 25,000 islands. I asked a few Swedes what counted as an island—when we were on the ferry we saw rocks barely breaking the surface with only room for a couple of seagulls to large inhabitable islands—but no one I asked was certain of the definition. Although undefinable in number the islands are undeniable in beauty. The rock formations are smooth and undulous. The glaciers shaped this landscape, which is still rebounding from the weight of the ice; the elevation raises by three millimeters every year. Something about the newness of the landscape, which only emerged in today’s recognizable form during the time of the Vikings, feels otherworldly and distinct to this part of the world, like the glaciers have only recently retreated.

The ferry pulled into Rödlöga and our suitcases were loaded in a wheelbarrow, the only way to move things around the island. Rödlöga is inhabited for six to eight weeks during the summer months by Swedish families, many of whom have been coming here to family houses for generations. There are about a hundred houses scattered across the island, some located on nearby small islands accessible only by private boat. The tiny harbor with its circle of red wooden houses and buildings and large boulders was gorgeous.

Rodloga Sweden

It had been misting and we were instructed about how to walk across the glistening, perfectly smooth large granite formations which were as slippery as ice. Our red wooden guest house was the size of a shed, with twin beds head-to-head. Water for washing and drinking was pumped from a green hand pump in the yard. The lengthy instructions for the outhouse were intimidating. Let’s just say that liquids and solids go in different places and must never meet. Not taking this seriously is what had caused the chef to be cast off the island. Any bathing during our visit would need to happen in the Baltic. Poisonous snakes and ticks were rumored to outnumber the people and were taken seriously as Lyme disease was prevalent.

Meg was drawn to the island because she relishes a challenge. She wanted to take this rough gem and with the help of the locals—including a long history of the island teens working at the cafe—marry traditional Swedish cuisine and baking with her experience and creativity. When on the island Meg lives in a tiny cabin about a ten-minute walk from the café and when she walks to work at 4 a.m., in broad daylight, through the trees and along the water she tries to get a sense for the weather to determine if the ferry will be crowded and how many people will be arriving on sailboats for lunch to plan for how much bread and food they need to make.

Donella’s cabin next to the sea

Watching Meg and Donella at work was like seeing a dance unfold. The two of them working almost wordlessly with Edith Piaf’s “Je Ne Regrette Rien” blasting on the speakers, simultaneously making multiple delicious things based on their drawers full of sourdough starters: Doughrien Greg, the rye starter; Tillsbury Doughgirl, or Tilly, for walnut and raisin bread; Hank The Farmer, used for a simple milk bread; and Love for the cardamom buns. The baking was fueled by strong coffee, seemingly the national drink of Sweden. On Meg’s first year on the island the coffee machine broke and she had to figure out how to rig up a new one using gravity and water heated by the sun.

Some of Meg and Donella’s creations

Meg has fallen in love with fermentation and Sweden is a good place to explore it. She’s been experimenting in new types of sourdough as well as pickled vegetables, kombucha coffee, and fermented ginger beer. With such a short growing season the Swedes had to master food storage to survive the long winters, going back to ancient times. Remains of fermented fish stored in an early Mesolithic settlement in eastern Sweden that date from 9200 years ago were recently found, according to the Journal of Archaeological Science—the oldest fermented food yet discovered. Today, Sweden offers sourdough hotels for bread-baking travelers to drop off their sourdough starters to be fed while they are out of town. One is conveniently located in Stockholm’s Arlanda airport.

We got invited to go out on a 1930s wooden boat with the photographer shooting Meg’s cookbook, Tomas Södergren, which revealed the island to be even more beautiful by water.

Settled into our red cabin and watching our daughter work while we idled we assumed all was good, but before we were able to eat our first cinnamon bun the curse continued. Meg revealed that she’d been having nerve pain in both arms and that her fingers were getting numb. The nurse on the island insisted that the medical helicopter come and take her to the hospital to be checked out, and as she’d recently had a tick bite and had had Covid in the winter, there were a lot of possibilities for what could be causing her symptoms. She arrived at a small local hospital by helicopter in the evening and at 2 a.m., after they determined she wasn’t dying immediately, the doctor told her she had to leave despite the fact there were no hotels open and she knew no one. She successfully pleaded for a morning release, we went to work finding her somewhere to stay on the mainland as she was in excruciating pain, and we set to work trying to pack things up on the island as it was clear she wasn’t going to be able to come back to finish up the remaining week that the cafe was scheduled to be open.

This is where I wish I could say the island banded together to help and support Meg but sometimes things in tiny towns get complicated. Usually when someone wants to improve somethings there’s a group that prefers the old ways, and they came out in force, voicing in equal parts that store-bought bread had always been just fine and frustration that Meg wouldn’t be there for the final week or so of the season to continue to bake fresh bread and pastries. It got uncomfortable enough that we were all delighted to board the ferry back to Stockholm, complete with all Meg’s bags.

Meg is now back in the California working on finishing her cookbook about her experiences in Sweden and trying to solve her medical mystery.

A few finds from Stockholm that were a highlight of our trip—two nursery and garden centers with lovely restaurants featuring produce grown on site, Rosendals Trädgård and Ulriksdal Trädgårdscafé. We stayed at the Hotel Nofo which was lovely.

And we now believe in curses.

July 11, 2021 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Venice discoveries

I love Venice but I’ve always hated the area around the Rialto Bridge. It’s too crowded, usually hot, and lined with the kind of restaurants where they try to lure you in as you walk by waving menus in English coated with plastic. My preferred neighborhood, Dorsoduro, feels more local and I’ve shared my favorite haunts here. But when we decided to go to Venice recently for John’s birthday to take advantage of the lack of crowds, we booked a hotel a friend had recommended that was smack dab in the middle of the Rialto Bridge area and we discovered a couple of gems.

The Hotel al Ponte Antico is a restored palazzo right on the Grand Canal next to Rialto Bridge. We went a little nuts for John’s birthday and booked their Junior Suite with Patio with glass doors that opened onto a private quai on the Grand Canal. No railings, no separation, just the traffic and trade of the canal passing by at eye level. The main photo above is the table outside our room. They also have a memorable porch for breakfast and aperitivi. No long lens in this shot—Rialto really is that close. The hotel has less than 10 rooms so it is lovely and intimate. We were lucky enough to have had the whole place to ourselves.

al Ponte Antico venice

The restoration from a nearly empty shell took years and unleashed all the monkeys in the zoo at the Venetian Planning Department. The two brothers who own the hotel were completely hands-on during the restoration and were joined daily by at least one Venetian official who watched over everything. One day they were painting the exterior wood trim of a multi-paned glass door overlooking the Grand Canal a certain city-approved shade of brown with a hint of red. On the inside the owner asked the painter to mix in a touch more of the red which they applied as a test to a small section of the door. The planning official then stopped work because the color had too much red. They offered to paint it over immediately with the approved color they were applying outside but the damage had already been done. All work on site was halted for two weeks and they had to pay a penalty. He recently received a certified letter saying that he must report to jail for the offense. This he shrugged off saying that the jail sentence would be reversed with yet another fee.

Good food in Venice is hard to find as so many restaurants are geared to tourists. We found Ai Mercanti in a tiny, nearly impossible to find square that offers innovative, local, and delicious food. And we discovered that even a stone’s throw away from the main tourist thoroughfares this area of Venice has its share of locals, quiet streets, and hauntingly beautiful canals.

The islands are always fun to explore and easy to access via the Vaporetto line 1. We headed out to Burano, nestled next to Torcello. Burano is a fishing village famous for its brightly painted houses and lace. The houses were even more vibrant in color than what I was expecting and a visual delight.

But what really made the trip special was a destination lunch at Venissa, which is on a tiny adjoining island accessible by footbridge. Venissa has a Michelin star and a large garden where they grow their own grapes for an acclaimed white wine. We ate next door to the one-star at their more casual Osteria Contemporanea.

Venissa Burano Venice

The tasting menu was diverse and delicious but most interesting were the paired wines—all whites— which were unusual and lovely. We’ve ended up tracking several down to have at home. Two of the four were from a small winery near Padova, Maeli, who takes advantage of their highly volcanic soil to produce some interesting sparkling wines featuring yellow Muscat grapes. We had their Dila Sparkling Wine and their Diloro Fior D’Arancio dessert wine—both fabulous—and I saw that they are available at a couple of US retailers. Maeli is headed by a woman winemaker, Elisa Dilavanzo, as is one of the other whites we loved, Arianna Occhipinti’s SP68 Bianco, from Sicily. Venissa has a small hotel and offers cooking and wine courses.

Venissa Burano Venice

July 4, 2021 In Best Of, Chow, Roam By Nancy

The Venice I love

When we first moved to Italy several years ago we lived in Venice for six weeks in August and ended up loving it more than ever. Several of you have asked for Venice advice so I thought it warranted a story. We love Venice, and feel protective of it, and want friends to experience the things that make it so special for us.

John rigged up a camera obscura in our rental apartment in Venice which projected our small view of the Grand Canal on our wall.

No umbrellas:

Groups of tourists following umbrella-equipped guides has to be a feature of the inner circle of Hell. One of the keys to enjoying Venice is never to be where these groups are. That means sticking to neighborhoods during the day and exploring anywhere near the Piazza San Marco only at night. Once you leave the Stazione-Rialto Bridge-Piazza San Marco superstrada of humanity you can get into neighborhoods and experience a whole different Venice. Piazza San Marco is ravishing at night, and it’s even worth it to splurge on the most expensive coffee you will ever have and sit at Caffè Florian at least once. The only time I’d recommend breaking the Piazza San Marco only-at-night rule is for the Secret Itineraries Tour at the Doge’s Palace, where you go into some special places in the Palace—including where Casanova was held prisoner, and inside the Bridge of Sighs. (If you book through the museum it’s half the price of doing it through a private tour, but places fill up fast.)

Our hood:

We love the Dorsoduro area near the Accademia museum. With quiet streets, interesting stores, and cafes and restaurants that have more locals it was an easy place for us to feel at home and we’ve returned many times. We lived near Campo San Barnabas and Campo Santa Margherita, both of which are lovely places to linger. There’s a university right by Campo Santa Margherita so it has a nice student vibe in addition to the local families with kids playing soccer.

Campo Santa Margherita:

—Caffè Rosso (photo above) on Campo Santa Margherita—no formal name, just a red painted facade with white “Caffe” painted over the door. It’s my favorite place to have a Spritz (the classic Venetian cocktail with Aperol, soda water, and prosecco) in the afternoon.

—As you face Caffe Rosso, several doors to the left, there is a place with a floor lamp placed outside, and a little white dog, called Osteria alla Bifora. The space is beautiful with ancient beams and it has a nice selection of simple things to eat. The tagliere (literally “cutting board”) of prosciutto, salumi, and cheese was our dinner many a night.

—Pizza Volo is great, and take out only, if you are in the mood to get a slice and sit in the piazza.

Campo San Barnaba:

— In Campo San Barnaba, there’s a little street that leads off the square called Calle Lunga San Barnaba which has several of our favorite restaurants. A famous one, 4 Feri just went out of business due to Covid and a rent dispute, but fortunately the next door restaurant, La Bitta, another of our favorites, is still going strong. A dessert that we make often—an amazing spice cake with hints of pepper, red wine, paprika, and cumin—is from this restaurant and the owner gave us the recipe.

— Ai Casin dei Nobili is good for pizza. They have a retractable roof over one of their dining rooms that is lovely on a hot evening. There’s also a branch on the Zattere.

— GROM ice cream on Campo Santa Barnaba is a chain, but really, really good.

—Between Campo Santa Margherita and Campo San Barnaba you pass over a canal on the Ponte dei Pugni, or ”Bridge of Fists.” They used to have fist fights between the youths of the two islands, outlawed in 1705, because of the injuries and fatalities.

—Here’s an extra credit, super great spot, if you can find it. If you cross the bridge slightly down from the entrance to Ai Casin dei Nobili, find the Calle dei Cherieri, and take it all the way to the end you’ll be on a dock on the Grand Canal, right at water level. I think it’s the most intimate view of the Grand Canal in Venice and a great place for a picnic.

Accademia:

—As you head back toward Accademia you need to find Ponte San Trovaso and Cantinone Gia Schiavi. It is one of the most famous places for bacari, also known as cicchetti, which are small, seasonal, freshly-made bar snacks and a large selection of wines by the glass, and grappa. Go around dusk when everybody gets a drink and cicchetti and hangs around outside. Alessandra, the mom, runs the place with her four sons. (This place just headlined a recent New York Times article. The other suggestions for cicchetti in the article look promising to investigate on my next trip.) There’s a boat yard opposite which is one of the last remaining gondola repair yards in Venice, which will be the topic of a future Itch.

Markets:

—I hate the crowds right by the Rialto bridge, but the outdoor market is invaluable for cooking in an apartment kitchen or provisioning a picnic. There are some high-end food stores in the area. Also, the produce boat parked at Ponte dei Pugni has a great selection.

I loved this lunch straight from the Rialto market.

Other parts of Venice, and islands:

—To go far off the tourist path take a vaporetto (line 12) to Torcello, the first of the inhabited islands of the Venetian lagoon. (Founded in 452—after Attila the Hun razed mainland villages. Most people left for other islands in the 1300s after malaria got too bad on Torcello.) There’s an inn and restaurant called Locanda Cipriani that is a fabulous destination for lunch. It was started by the founder of Harry’s Bar in 1935 and has been run by the family ever since. Ernest Hemingway lived there for a season while he wrote Across the River and Into the Trees. It’s a haunting, gorgeous, nearly deserted island with a beautiful “cathedral” from 639 with some lovely mosaics.

—The Jewish ghetto is interesting and there’s a famous Jewish restaurant Gam Gam. You can even get a table outside and eat right on the Canal Cannaregio. The streets in back of it are a quiet and haunting place to get lost.

— The Lido. Late one summer afternoon we decided to go for a swim and headed to the Lido. Very Italian scene—the beach is totally occupied by beach clubs with small bathing huts and chairs. Groups of families rent the same cabanas year after year, share the cost, and invite dozens of relatives and friends, so the beach was so crowded with towels, chairs, and people that we could hardly make our way to the water. We started swimming and by the time we turned around an hour later we were shocked to discover that the beach was empty. It was after 6pm and there is obviously an unspoken rule not to be on the beach after 6. That’s where we also started to notice that Italians love to do things in packs. Why go anywhere alone when you can go with a crowd?

—The Libreria Acqua Alta bookstore has ended up on a lot of “most beautiful bookstores in the world” lists on social media, but it is worth seeing in person if you love books. Plus, when we were there one of its fabulous cats was standing guard over an honest-to-GodREAD MORE

November 15, 2020 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Ten things the Romans didn’t want you to know about the Etruscans

The Etruscans get a bad rap. When the Greeks and Romans wrote the history of their time they intentionally left the Etruscans out. In the case of Rome, the victors get to write history. The result is that even my daughter, Donella, has a disdain for the Etruscans after spending five years in the Italian school system.

We live on an Etruscan road (the little lane above) and it’s made me curious to know more, as does living with the Tuscans and noting how different they are from the people of other regions—where did this difference come from? I’ve been investigating and here are ten reasons that I’m intrigued by this ancient civilization. (The Etruscans lived from 900 BCE to 89 BCE in present day Tuscany (and far beyond), and gave the region their name.)

1. Women were equals. Woman were literate and some were noteworthy scholars, they participated freely in the public sphere, became judges, dressed in any way they chose, and participated in banquets as equals to men and could drink, dance, and lounge on couches. The contemporary Greeks and Romans thought these women’s rights were scandalous. They kept their own names when marrying and people buried in Etruscan tombs were identified by their mother and father’s lineage. Women in art were represented with their heads on the same level as men, and as having the same torso size, which is clearly a physical exaggeration, but conveyed equality. When the Romans dominated the Etruscan culture women lost all these rights.

I visited the tombs at the Necropolis in Tarquinia (and took a private 2.5 hour tour) and in the Tomb of the Leopards (480-450 BCE) three couples are shown at a banquet. The pair on the right especially grabbed my attention. I think it is one of the most beautiful images I’ve ever seen of a couple’s relationship. There is such energy, enjoyment, and engagement in their body language.

2. They chose equal city-states over centralized power. The civilization was a federation of twelve equally-powerful cities. Key to Etruscan success was the idea that it was better to specialize, cooperate, and trade rather than fight amongst themselves for power. This made them very successful and wealthy. Cities specialized in different things, like mining and metal work, ceramics, food production, or cloth production. This specialization let technology surge ahead, which increased food production, which let more people specialize. A virtuous cycle.

3. The fashion was amazing. For several centuries when the Romans wanted to say someone was really stylish they’d say someone dressed like an Etruscan. In the painting above the women are wearing three different patterns of cloth: stripes, polka dots, and stars. And check out the center musician from the same tomb as he walks through a field of olives with two other band members. His clothes are amazing, billowing backwards as he walks forward. And his shoes are marvelous. The Italian gift for designing clothes and shoes started early.

Etruscan jewelry is also beautiful. I love the things that started with the Etruscans and endure today. The town of Arezzo remains one of the top places in the world for gold processing and design, and its Etruscan predecessor was famous for metal work, including jewelry. Look at these Etruscan bracelets.

4. Italy with no olive oil or wine? The Etruscans brought the cultivation of grapes for wine and olives for oil to Italy from their contacts with the Greeks at the end of the third century BCE.

5. Romans would not have been the Romans without them. The Etruscans predated the Romans and then were subsumed by the Roman Empire in 89 BCE when the Romans stamped out their rights, culture, and language. The Etruscans got the alphabet and numbers from the Phoenicians and passed them on to Rome. The Etruscans also taught the Romans hydraulic engineering, city planning with streets in a grid, fashion (including the toga), architecture (temple design and the Etruscan adaptation of Doric columns) and more. Two of the last Roman kings were Etruscan. The most famous statue of Romulus and Remus and the she-wolf—the symbol of Rome—was created by an Etruscan.

6. They were the creators of the red-checkered table cloth. Some Italian traditions run deep. Check out what the lounging couples are sitting on in the painted scene above.

7. These guys got around. I am always amazed when I learn the extent of trade relationships that existed thousands of years ago. The Etruscans were one of the major players. They traded with Greece, Turkey, Egypt, the Phoenicians, and even the Celts.

8. Social mobility was celebrated. Although they did have slaves, apparently freedmen and women had many opportunities to cross occupations and social classes. One third of the paintings in the Tomb of the Leopards is about this topic. The same figure is repeated four times, starting on on the left as a naked slave and ending up on the right as a well-dressed member of society coming to the banquet.

9. They had great taste. More revered Greek attic vases, or kraters, have been found in Etruscan tombs than anywhere else, including one of the most infamous pieces of art the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York has ever had, the Sarpedon Krater. This piece of pottery was looted from an Etruscan grave in 1971 and the Met illegally bought it a year later for the most they’d ever paid for a piece of art. The Krater was repatriated to Italy and moved from its centerpiece position in a Tiffany-designed case to a more humble Italian museum very near where it had been found.

The Etruscans also made Kraters that have been found in Greek tombs.

10. Precocious artists. The fresco is badly damaged, but look at the nuanced leg muscles on the guy on the right (and the shoes!). Predates the rediscovery of perspective and portrayal of anatomy in the Renaissance by 1400 years. And the door to the underworld actually has plaster relief working with the painting to amplify a 3-D effect.

If you are still with me in my rabbit hole I applaud you. If you want more I found this, this, and this helpful as good overviews of the Etruscan civilization.

October 1, 2020 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Cheese made in heaven

Since I had such a memorable adventure on the Chamonix side of Mont Blanc I felt it was only fair to give the Italian side a chance so on the return trip to Italy we stopped in Courmayeur for the night. We had work to do. Largely involving cheese.

Before this trip I’d asked Edward Behr for advice about food in the Val D’Aosta. (Edward edits and publishes The Art of Eating, which is one of my favorite publications on food and wine.) One of his recommendations was that we track down a Fontina maker in the mountains. Challenge accepted.

To do so we needed to add on an additional night in Courmayeur — not a hardship as we’d landed in a nurturing, cozy, and rustic place, Maison la Saxe. The six-bedroom inn was in a rustic farmhouse from the 1700s, one of many houses in a tightly packed cluster literally in the shadow of Mont Blanc. When I say tightly packed I mean the tiny lanes between the houses are about an arm’s width across. I asked the owner, Raphael, a guy in this thirties who was born in Courmayeur, had lived all over the world, and then returned to the village to restore and run the inn, and he said they were built tightly together not for defense but warmth. It’s the kind of place where my stone shower had a window thoughtfully installed with a view of Mont Blanc.

Maison de Saxe Courmayeur

I enlisted the aid of Raphael for our Fontina search. He called a Fontina maker who invited us up the following morning. Up is a description I chose carefully. It took us 40 minutes to go just a couple of kilometers above the town of Aosta on one of the curviest roads I have ever driven. Pretty soon we were at eye level with the highest peaks and surrounded by green meadows. It was the closest to heaven I will probably every get.

Raphael had given us coordinates of where to park which was an unmarked grassy area at the top of the road. We then had to actually find the cows and cheese-makers. We asked at a tiny restaurant and were pointed to a hiking trail leading ten minutes straight up through the pastures to a small barn, the summer home of Azienda Agricola Quendoz.

The cheese maker took us into a small room with a huge copper cauldron to show us how it’s done. The cheese maker was originally from Morocco and had come to this spot, fallen in love with it, and moved here to take care of the cows and make cheese, more than a decade before. I can see the appeal of this life.

Fontina cheese copper cauldron

True Fontina comes only from here. To be recognized as “Fontina” (which has DOP — protected designation of origin — status from the EU) the milk has to come from red-pied Valdostana cows who graze only on these mountain grasses. They are milked twice a day and the cheese is made twice a day as each batch has to be from a single milking. The milk is heated in large copper cauldrons, enzymes and rennet are added to produce curds, the cheese is separated and drained, and pressed into a wheel-shaped molds. It’s brined in salt for two months and then set aside to age for three more months, frequently turned and salted. We tried the just ready Fontina along with a much more aged version and they were complex and interesting, not at all like the boring cheeses marketed as Fontina from other countries. This was nutty and buttery and wonderful.

Then on the way back down we got to meet some of the girls.

I wanted to write this article this not because I thought you needed to become Fontina aware, but more because I wanted to share this place of beauty and peace and a glimpse into a different way of life.

Trip notes:

If you are ever in Aosta but don’t have time to make it up the hill Raphael also pointed us to a small cheese shop downtown with a surprisingly large selection and a big cheese cellar in their basement (photo below) called Erbavoglio Antica Latteria. They put together a delicious tasting for us and looks like I can also order from them. I see more Fontina in my future.

Ed Behr also recommended Salumeria Bertolin in Arnad, just as you enter Valle d’Aosta. I stopped on my way to France and loved it. A wide variety of mountain salumi and delicious tasting board. I was fascinated by one that looked like a salumi but was made from beets. When life gives you beets…

September 22, 2020 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Smells like death

I thought that after I was rescued by helicopter on Mt. Blanc my adventures were over, but I was wrong.

The next day I left my cozy hotel in Chamonix and drove to a place I’d found to stay outside of Vézelay, in Burgundy. I’d chosen it quickly and pretty much randomly. Exterior looked impressive online, it was well-positioned for my final sprint into Paris, on the edge of a huge national forest, not too expensive, and oddly it had rooms available on the last weekend of summer break — a major time for travel for the French.

To get to the hotel I drove through some truly beautiful countryside. Rolling hills of cut hay, old trees, tiny stone villages, small rushing rivers, and white cows in green fields. I get to the Château d’Island and it is as stunning as the pictures. The parking lot was empty except for one other car when I arrived. After a few minutes of standing in the parking lot an older man came out and led me to the base of a staircase in a tower. A woman came out, and instead brought me into the bar which was clearly never used and had me write my name and the date on a slip of paper. No ID or credit card required.

She led me to another staircase and up three flights of stairs to a room in the attic. It was then that I started to notice the smell. It was similar to the scent of a grandparent’s house that had been shut up for a long time, but like there had been generations and generations of grandparents who feared fresh air and replacing any furniture or upholstery. It smelled like death.

I loved my room, tucked into the corner of the attic, with an amazing array of beams, including one that grew out of the middle of the top of the mattress. There was a dormer window set near the floor with a wide sill where you could sit, touch the roof tiles, and gaze over the gables and gardens.

The woman then showed me around the rest of the house, including a salon that had original paintings from the 1400s, when the place was built, and the breakfast room with a fireplace almost tall enough to walk into, topped with copper. It was all stunning. It felt somehow naked — like nothing had been touched in centuries. An endangered species of place before it gets Relais-et-Châteaued. I was in heaven.

I left to go a few miles into Vézelay for dinner and when I returned I drove right past the hotel by mistake. It was easy to do this because the whole place was dark. Really dark. I parked, now the only car in the lot. They didn’t mention how I should get in after hours so I was relieved to see that the door to the tower was wide open, lit only by a couple of glowing green nightlights.

I get to the room, lock the door, open the window to get some fresh air, and get ready to go to sleep, placing extra pillows around the beam that’s even with my head in the middle of the bed in case I roll over quickly in my sleep.

All went well till the bat flew in.

When I first heard the loud rustling noise I thought a rat had come along the gutter and hopped into my open window. I was relieved when I turned on the light and saw it was just a bat. I pulled the covers over my head and tried to go back to sleep which turned out to be impossible because I’d hear the whoosh of flight and feel the lightest puff of air as the bat flew close over my head about every half hour. The problem was in the forest of beams in the tall peaked ceiling there was no way to tell whether it had left or was still in the room. And the window where he’d come in was near the floor and small. After several hours awake I got an ingenious idea, or at least it seemed so at the time. I turned on my iPhone flashlight and placed it outside on the roof, shining up, hoping it would attract bugs, which would attract the bat. I don’t know if this worked, or exhaustion took over, but I finally did get back to sleep for a couple hours.

The interesting thing is that after my Paris stay, when I am making the return road trip back to Italy with two friends, we book an overnight at a hotel in prime Burgundy territory, right outside Beaune. It is lovely, we have one of the best meals I’ve had in forever, sleep in comfortable, well-appointed rooms that are clean and don’t smell of death. And it is uninteresting and soulless. I realize my friends and I need to backtrack about an hour and a half to return to the Château de la Mort. Fortunately my friends are really good sports and trust me. No other guests were there when we arrived and the hostess showed us every room — quite the endeavour as it involved a huge mass of keys and considerable time to lock and unlock each door. Each was completely different and widely varied, as did the level of the château’s unique smell.

One of our favorite moments occurs over our two breakfasts. They have classical music playing from a station with a considerable amount of static over speakers that must have been from the 1970s. When this aria came on my friend had to capture it. We decided it was a fitting soundtrack of the place.

Although my friends were definitely aware of the rough edges, I interviewed them last night over some wine and captured their stream of consciousness memories. “A vanishing place that will never be again.” “There was no ‘show’. Most hotels feel like they are putting on a show, but not here.” “A privilege to see the unrenovated place before it is renovated beyond redemption.” “Unusually relaxed — more relaxing than being at a spa.” “Like time travel. My room had a desk and chair in front of the full length window set up to write letters.” “No pretension. It’s pure, not packaged for tourists.” And my personal favorite — “weird as shit”.

Trip Notes:

Château d’Island is located between the gorgeous villages of Vézelay and Avallon.

Château de Saulon is the place we stayed outside of Beaune and very near the famed Route Vins. Looks amazing on the homepage picture, but marred on the other side by the addition of an glass eating area and glass elevator. However their farm to table restaurant is worth a trip to Burgundy by itself.

Lunch at Olivier Leflaive, one of the top white wine makers in the world. We ate and tasted a about 10 glasses (between us all) of their wines. We tried two Puligny-Montrachet 1er Crus were from the same row of grapes in the same field, but one bottle was from the top of the rolling hill (a 2015 Champ Gains) and another bottle was from the less-arid bottom (a 2015 Renferts). And they tasted completely different. We also had a glass of a wine from the same field which is available only in the restaurant because so few bottles are made and it was breathtaking. For you wine buffs, just to brag, it was their Les Pucelles wine from 2011.

I’m going to do another Itch on Vézelay and Avallon because they are that good.

August 26, 2020 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

My Mt. Blanc helicopter rescue

I drove Sebastian to the airport last Monday to fly back to London for school. Saying goodbye was even harder than usual as I don’t know when or where I will be able to see either kid next. I feel like a mother saying goodbye to a child about get in a covered wagon and go far into the wilds. Like Michigan.

Maybe a road trip to Paris would head off any incoming gloom. John can’t come with me as he’s been having back pain so I set out by myself with adventure in my heart and a rallying cry of “you never know what will happen next” on my lips. God, if he exists, heard me. I do not use the “he” pronoun lightly as I now am quite sure that the long held presumption that God is a man is true and that he decided that I need to be taught a lesson or two as I chose to set out on my own to have fun while my husband is lying on ice back at home.

My trip begins, complete with coronavirus protective protocols, routes, and equipment. My first night out is in Chamonix, at a really lovely inn. After a killer breakfast I ask the woman at the desk for good day hike ideas. I had already done research online and what she said matched what I’d found. So far I am adulting very impressively. Amazing views of Mt. Blanc, a great 6 hour or so hike, what could go wrong?

I set off, on my own, with my half-liter, eco-friendly bottle of water in hand. I start to get a bit concerned as the hike starts out paralleling a gravity-powered roller coaster, complete with upside down parts.

Chamonix trail to Montenvers

I keep climbing through woods. My Apple watch tells me I’ve climbed 75 flights of stairs in a mile and a half. A sign says is an hour more to the top. At this point I am being insufferable on the family group chat, sending a constant stream of statistics about my climb and distance. I am unstoppable. Some might even say smug.

I reach the top of the rail line at Montenvers, where I plan to rest and eat but there are long lines for the restaurant and to buy water and sandwiches. I fill my little bottle in the bathroom and hit the trail again as this part is supposed to be an “easy and pleasant” walk along the ridge to the Plan De L’Aiguille where I can catch the funicular back down.

trail with mers de glace

But when I get to a fork in the trail I take the “advised route” going via “Le Signal” which turns out to be a another summit. With all that implies. Off I go having no idea that I had hours more climbing ahead of me.

I arrive at the Le Signal and feel horrible. I realize that I don’t have enough water and haven’t had anything of substance to eat all day. I find myself “resting” on the trail every hundred meters or so, occasionally even laying flat on the trail to keep from getting dizzy.

Le Signal summit

John and I have been talking and he has been tracking my location while looking at Google satellite images. He realizes I am in big trouble. I am insisting that I can go the next 2km of hard walking to get to the funicular down. He tells me to stay where I am and he calls the hotel to get the rescue helicopter.

The rescue team calls me immediately and conferences in a doctor to hear my tale of woe. He authorizes the rescue, they send me a text that I respond to that locates my exact position, and tell me that they will be there in ten minutes. And that I should put anything that can possibly fly away in hurricane force winds away in a bag.

If you squint you can see Chamonix at the bottom where my “walk” started.

I am flat on the trial, too dizzy to move, when I hear the “helo” as they referred to it lovingly several times on the call. I sit up and hold my arms in a y-shape as instructed, wondering where the hell they are going to land as the terrain is very steep. Doesn’t faze them. They hover the thing with one leg about six inches off the narrow trail and the other hanging in space. Three very cute, buff dudes hop off. One grabs me by the back of the neck like a bad puppy, forces by head down, and throws me into the helicopter. We are down in ten minutes.

Part of the reason I didn’t want to call is that I was worried about cost and that I’d probably have to spend a night or two in a hospital for observation. But no. We arrive at the bottom, get out, they take my ID, inform me that it’s all paid by the French government, and tell me to go to the nearest bus stop that is about a kilometer away to get back to town. They are clearly unimpressed by my saga. I wander away stunned. I arrive back in Chamonix and start drinking water. Liters and liters of water. I shower and my fingers are unrecognizable; they are indented like the proverbial prune. I keep drinking. 24 hours later I finally have to pee.

So, don’t hike without enough water.

Next Itch will be my following night in the chateau that smells like death with my friend the bat. Remind me again why I wanted an adventure?

June 28, 2020 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Secrets from a yacht

What do people lucky enough to be on a yacht discover about the Italian coast that mere mortals like me can’t get to — what fishing villages (that are actually still fishing villages), deserted coves, and hidden beaches does Italy have to offer to those on a boat?

My son, Sebastian, just found out. He was invited to join a friend and his family for a two-week sail down the coast from Naples, around the Amalfi Coast, and then over to the Aeolian Islands off Sicily. One of his favorite places of all was a tiny fishing village called Corricella on the island of Procida. Luckily, to visit Corricella a yacht is not required. With the help of a car ferry it’s possible to get there from Naples, which is why I wanted to share this hot tip and want to go myself this fall.

The island of Procida is the smaller and less-visited cousin of the touristy Ischia, which is right next door. (Ischia has had quite the boom after the publication of Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan Novels.) The port of Procida is busy and overrun but if you can get to the other side of the island to the village of Corricella a different world awaits. It’s an ancient settlement (the name comes from the Greek kora Cale or “nice neighborhood”) — such a nice neighborhood that it was used for the waterfront scenes in the movie Il Postino. This part of the world has been at the crossroads of invasion for millenium so the houses are all constructed with steep stairs leading to the front doors to make it easier to defend. The houses are painted a vivid range of different colors. It’s a working fishing village with a small harbor filled with mostly wooden boats with a few restaurants along a quai. When Sebastian went they ate alongside local fishermen and their families. The maze of tiny streets are steep and accessible only on foot. The few cars that he saw had permanently removed their side mirrors and had huge scrapes along both sides. There’s a sagging ruin of a fortress on a cliff and an old church at the top. I’m all in.

The most unusual thing that happened on Sebastian’s trip was off a remote island in the Aeolians. They were moored, having lunch, when an unusual man approached them in a rowboat and asked to speak to the captain. He was dressed in torn up, old clothes, had unkempt hair, and spoke in the strongest of dialects. The captain talked with him for a moment, went below to get a bottle of very nice champagne, hopped into the rowboat, and they headed off. He returned a couple of hours later. Turns out this guy has lived in a cave, year round, on a deserted island for over twenty years. He knew the previous captain who had told his replacement to be on the lookout for him. (He’s apparently well-known by many captains.) The captain was taken into a cave which was covered by the man’s writings on the walls and ceiling. The captain had a bit of a struggle following his stories in dialect but it was clear that he referred to other people as “you humans.” And he drank almost the whole bottle of champagne.

Sebastian’s amazing experience is not just available to friends of the family. The family’s yacht is available for charter, and two other spectacular properties, one in the Tyrol, and the other are the Pope’s apartments wrapping the Sant’Agnese in Agone church overlooking Piazza Navona in Rome are available to rent. More details at San Lorenzo Lodges.

In case you need six seconds of dolphins playing in the wake here you go:

January 27, 2020 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Paris discoveries

I deeply love Paris and know it pretty well. On my way back to California I stopped for a few days and found a few new (to me) treasures I have to share.

Best place to have tea in a tub: Le Pavillon des Canaux

A friend insisted we go to a cafe in an old canal master’s house overlooking the canals and locks of the Bassin de la Villette.

In addition to deciding what artisanal coffee, tea, pastry or soup you want you also have to figure out whether you want to take your snack to a bathtub, bedroom, kitchen, or living room. In addition to being a cafe they also show films and host community events.

The cafe, called Le Pavillon des Canaux, is an important stop to know about when exploring the Parisian canal system and visiting the bassin, which is the largest lake in Paris. Boats are rentable in the summer, and in August the quai turns into one of the beaches for Paris plages.

But even on a cold winter day the place was charming. The only downside was the number of people working on computers but according to their website they also have times that are declared sans laptops. It’s in the 19th arrondissement.

Julia Child’s favorite Paris restaurant: Chez Georges

After my haircut (more below) I met John at Chez Georges, a classic French bistro where Julia Child had the legendary sole meunière that set her on her path. We went for lunch, which I’d highly suggest, as we were the only Americans in the restaurant (sounds like at dinner there are more tourists, although one article I read mentioned seeing Wes Anderson and Tilda Swinton dining together which wouldn’t bum me out too much even if they aren’t Parisians.) I would have given a lot to know identities of the occupants of the next table by the window. For at least 20 minutes before they arrived the waiters were busy preparing — opening a bottle of wine to breathe, setting out plates of charcuterie and radishes, and just the right bottled water. The patrons finally arrived, were seated, and were the only ones in the very busy place the maître d‘ wished a bon dejeuner tableside.

The people watching was hours of fun. Food was traditional but excellent. It’s a right near Place des Victoires.

Hero hairdresser: David Mallett

I’ve now had my haircut by David Mallet twice and I’m sooo happy. He has a salon near Palais Royale, one in the hotel George V, and one in New York. He’s Australian by birth, raised in Naples, has lived in Paris for years, is a vegan, and has a salon filled with taxidermy. What else could you wish for? Anthony, the colorist is great too.

Handmade porcelain lampshades: Alix D. Reynis

On one of my favorite streets, rue Jacob, Alix D. Reynis makes beautiful porcelain lampshades, jewelry, and white bowls and dishes. After a couple of years on the hunt we found our lights for over the dining room table. Welcome home little ones.

January 12, 2020 In Best Of, Roam By Nancy

Genoa: from prostitutes to palaces

Genoa, or Genova to the Italians, was once a big deal city although it is a bit of an afterthought today. Italy’s sixth-largest city, and a major EU port, Genova has been all about the sea since its founding in the sixth-century B.C. by Phoenician and Etruscan sailors. It was an important Roman port, and a crucial supplier of goods and transport for the crusades during the 12th century, making it one of the wealthiest and most powerful cities in the world. The striped Cathedral of San Lorenzo is a testament to Genova’s past glory.

Always vying for dominance with Venice and Pisa, it also was under the control of the French and the Austrians at various points. It feels a bit dark, looming, and watching for danger, which is probably partially due to its geography. It’s wedged in a narrow band of flat land between the sea and the Apennine mountains 19 miles long. Even coming from San Francisco the vertical nature of the town is intimidating. It’s partially built on hills that are disorientingly steep. In some buildings you enter on street level, climb up four stories of high-ceilinged palazzo splendor, and exit the backside of the same building, again on street level.

The port is highly industrial and the part that isn’t has been refurbished by native son Renzo Piano into what, to me, is a less interesting version of Pier 39. But across the busy road paralleling the port is one of the most memorable and evocative maze of pedestrian streets I’ve seen since the back alleys of Fez and Marrakech.

Because the topography offered little land to build on it is medieval high-density living. Even with Google Maps it’s easy to get lost in the narrow alleys which are framed by six and seven story medieval buildings casting the ground level in constant nighttime. A half block away from some of the trendiest boutiques prostitutes abound—it is, and always has been, a seaport after all. Because of the narrow streets the prostitution is a bit more up close and personal than what I’m used to seeing occasionally. I literally had to squeeze past a woman leading her client by the hand into a building when I walking by in the other direction.

Slightly above the medieval warren is a grand pedestrian street, Via Garibaldi, lined by huge palaces. Created in the 16th century it is now a UNESCO World Heritage site. These palazzos are now mostly museums with a few nice pieces including Paganini’s famous “Il Cannone” violin—and surprisingly, two of his guitars.

One of the things I liked about the city is that there are a lot of 20 and 30-somethings due to the spillover of economic growth from Milan. It has a youth energy that’s often missing in Italian cities.

We found a neighborhood wine bar in the historic section notable not for its wine or food but because it’s a warm gathering place. The wine is actually all pretty fresh off the vine and not yet in a bottle but in huge vats. One local, when asked by the bartender which wine she wanted replied “The 1€ one.”

They don’t serve any food until after six when a woman arrives with freshly-baked focaccia from a local bakery. Everyone applauded when she arrived. They serve the fresh focaccia with simple salumi and cheese and it was delicious.

We sat next to a charming, nearly toothless, ancient, bedraggled guy who was clearly a regular. He couldn’t stop petting Lola and told us at length about his dog. The rest of the crowd were 20-somethings and young families (with some awesome dogs) all of whom knew each other. Best of all was the bill. Complete dinner with two glasses of wine each, 16.50€. We then splurged and bought two unmarked bottles to take home for 3€. This charmer is called Mescite and I’d run back in a heartbeat.

Nearby on the Via Garibaldi there is a designer homeware store on the second floor of one of the palaces called Via Garibaldi 12. The architecture of the store itself is stunning, but in additional they have an eclectic and very fancy mix of furniture, tableware, and home accessories. When we were in with Lola their small dog was running around playing with her, along with a young grandson, and the owners didn’t seem the least bit concerned, even when everyone was running around the large, leather, one-of-a-kind sofa designed by Zaha Hadid (price upon request…) or the wall of hand blown glass vases—you can see both below.

We stayed at a central, but tired hotel, Hotel Bristol Palace. Room was huge and the hotel has a great central staircase, but it didn’t charm me. Next time I will stay at a hotel we found on our wanderings in the medieval sector, Palazzo Grillo.

It looks wonderful and it’s next to an enchanting church, Chiesa Santa Maria delle Vigne (the monks grew grapes in the cloister during the middle ages). When we passed the cloisters had been paved over and were being used as a soccer area for kids.

The pesto we had was wonderful, but with a distinctly different flavor and texture than pesto I’ve had elsewhere. It’s so emulsified that it’s creamier and less dark. To get the right texture you will clearly need one of these: A Pestobene. You gotta see this baby in action.

There’s a nice covered market, the Mercato Orientale. I’ve never been to a farmer’s market that sells white truffles before. Not to mention the stand specializing in tripe.

One of our favorite things was a walk along the sea to the small fishing village of Boccadasse (more in an earlier Itch article).

Don’t miss Il Profumo for gelato, which is not to be confused with the new official “logo fragrance” of Genova made by Euthalia and containing a mixture of basil, marjoram, thyme, bergamot, rosemary, coriander, and lavender. It was dispensed throughout the city in diffusers from Sept. 12 through the 13th of October of last year. Back to the gelato, Profumo was named the best gelato in Italy, according to the Italian food authorities at Gambero Rosso, and the owner/maker is a delight.